Charade
by puredark
Summary: One night, Harry Potter had suddenly gone berserk, savagely killing nearly the entire Order, but leaving only a certain brown-haired bookworm alive. Despite the past, he joins Voldemort, eventually becoming his right hand. Revenge is what motivates him, obsession is what controls him, and despair is what haunts him. Hermione seems to be his prisoner, until she becomes so much more.
1. Curtains Up

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

 **Rating:** _M_ for violence, language, and sex

 **A/N:** Hello, beloved readers and fellow writers. This is my first story on this website, _Charade._ It deals with an alternate version of Harry, a boy who went through a neglectful, abusive childhood and suffered from several losses and responsibilities he wasn't ready to carry; as a consequence, he develops certain desires for revenge, concerning many people, from the Dursleys to the Order. The only two persons he trusts and considers worthy of his love and loyalty are Sirius and Hermione. With Sirius dead and gone, his affection for Hermione turns into obsessive feelings. As a renegade and current member of Voldemort's followers, his true aims seem to be even more difficult to define. Find out what he truly wants!

Get a taste of my first H/Hr story! I hope you enjoy it; there's surely more to come!

Please **read** and **review**! Thank you!

* * *

 _'Hmm,' said a small voice in his ear. 'Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes_ _—_ _and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?'_

 _Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, 'Gryffindor. They can't suspect anything, not Slytherin, just not Slytherin.'_

 _'Not Slytherin, eh?' said the small voice. 'Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that_ _—_ _no? Well, if you're sure_ _—_ _better be GRYFFINDOR!'_

* * *

 **Chapter** **1: Curtains Up**

Hermione was breathing heavily.

Every breath was pure pain, a torture _—_ her heart beat so fast against her chest that she feared to die.

No _—_ she wanted to.

She wished she could die _—_ here and now, along with the people who were her closest allies and friends.

She had long ceased to cry. It seemed like there was no longer a single tear which she could shed.

Hours had passed _—_ and she had not stirred from the spot.

Hermione looked at Ginny's white, empty and pretty face, which she had always envied. Her slender body was stretched on the cold ground in the demolished garden of the Burrow. She had taken it best. He had finished Ginny's short life with the killing curse _—_ quickly and painlessly.

Hermione dared to look up;

Tonks's candy-colored hair lay limp on the torso of her freshly baked husband _—_ Lupin's eyes were open, staring glassy and deserted into the dark starry sky. How could the stars shine? How could the earth still continue to rotate? How could all of this have happened?

Mrs and Mr Weasley were bloodstained, only a few centimeters away from them their sons Fred and George. He had forced them to watch him how he tortured the twins into madness before he ended their lives and eventually also those of their parents.

Hermione whimpered. Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones, Bill and Fleur, Mundungus Fletcher, Kingsley Shacklebolt _—_ all, _all_ of them had been tortured and butchered to death.

The Order of the Phoenix no longer existed.

Only she was left _—_ Hermione Granger.

Why had he spared her, left her behind and not even looked at her?

She just could not understand that this could have ever happened _—_ it could be just a dream, a terrible, horrible nightmare in which she had to force herself to go through before she would wake up.

He was her best friend.

He was the Chosen One.

He was the light, on which they had relied upon.

He was the Boy Who Lived.

He was the one in which she had fallen in love with so long ago...

 _And now?_

Now he was a Death Eater.

Voldemort's personal assistant.

He wore the Dark Mark.

Hermione had seen it with her own disbelieving eyes.

The second time that Voldemort had immortalized himself on his body.

 _God, oh God_ _—_ what had happened to him?

Hermione's heart clenched, she buried her face in her knees and sobbed.

 _Who would save the world now?_

Hermione rose involuntarily; her wobbly legs kept her barely standing. Clutching her wand, she began to bury the Order of the Phoenix.

She had to find Ron _—_ Ron, _oh_ , Ron.

He had not been present during the attack on the Burrow _—_

she had to find him.

But first: shovel, shovel, shovel.

Earth, blood, tears.

* * *

 _'There, look.'_

 _'Where?'_

 _'Next to the tall kid with the red hair.'_

 _'Wearing the glasses?'_

 _'Did you see his face?'_

 _'Did you see his scar?'_

 _Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes._

 _Moreover, Harry did not want to be famous for something that he could not even remember. They should talk about him when he was old and strong enough_ _—_ _when he was finally able to take revenge on all of them... Soon, soon..._

* * *

Draco stumbled.

Panting and looking around nervously, he ran through the dimly lit corridors of their hideaway.

The Dark Lord had chosen this remote and forgotten place personally.

It was cold and deserted and teeming with the darkest creatures _—_ Dementors, who waited impatiently for a command of their leader to finally feed on the happiness and hope of others again.

He had changed...

He had become way stronger...

He was now one of them; a Death Eater.

Or has he always been spoiled _—_ deep down in his broken and abandoned soul? Was this all part of a plan, which he had made up years ago?

'Why are you in such a hurry, Draco?' said an all too familiar, and now still so unfamiliar voice.

Draco turned to him.

He smiled, a pleased twinkle in the bright green, cold eyes.

'I _—_ I _—_ '

'You're scared, are you not, Draco? Oh, I've always known you fear me, you know. You were never more than a little boy with a lot of money and a great arrogance,' he said quietly. 'Tell me, Draco, do you wish to have your two muscular, but pitifully stupid friends Crabbe and Goyle with you now? Do you want to hide from me _—_ perhaps this is the reason why you're running through the corridors of this house like a frightened ferret?'

Draco swallowed hard. 'N _—_ no! We're a _—_ allies now, aren't we? Right?'

Silence.

Slowly, Harry walked toward his former rival, who tried hard not to tremble. 'You know, Draco, I still remember the countless times when you have teased and humiliated my Hermione.'

'I _—_ I was never serious about it, I'm really sorry, I was just jealous _—'_

For a brief second something dangerous, something deadly flashed in those green eyes before Harry let out a cold, short laugh. 'Of course you were,' he whispered softly, turned and walked down the corridor with his glowing wand, leaving a paralyzed boy behind.


	2. Yellow And Red Roses

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Yellow And Red Roses**

Ron Weasley.

The only surviving member of the big Weasley family.

Without even knowing it, he had become an orphan because of his former best friend.

Harry Potter had been like a brother to him, someone he could trust with his and his loved ones's lives, someone he could laugh with about the silliest things, someone he could tell his deepest fears and desires. A friend, an ally, a brother, a soulmate.

 _How could that have happen?_

Ron's family no longer existed. The Order of the Phoenix that had become something like his second home and family no longer existed. He had nobody left.

Apart from Hermione.

 _Hermione._

Where was she?

Was she safe?

He had to find her.

He had to make sure that she was safe and sound.

He had to get to her before _he_ could.

Wherever Ron Weasley was right now; Harry Potter was certain that the red-headed boy knew he was next.

The former Golden Trio, known for its unbreakable bond and trust, was distributed on earth, each of them searching the others.

Only their goals were different.

Shelter.

Shelter and death.

 _How ironic._

* * *

'We've got sunflowers, roses, jasmine, cyclamen, and even the so-called bird of paradise, a beautiful flower!'

Hermione's pale and thin fingers tightened around her muggle-jacket. Nervously, she looked around. She could swear she was watched.

Liverpool. Oh, she remembered the city from an little adventure she had with her parents. Their goal had actually been Birmingham, but somehow they'd ended up in this wonderful and living city she was standing in right now.

Culture, art, music, food _—_ it was a truly breathtaking visit she had spent there.

But now something else was taking her breath away.

It had been two months since the attack on the Order of the Phoenix in the Burrow.

Hermione was well aware of the fact that she was being watched, surely by Death-Eaters or Ministry employees. These days there no longer existed a difference between these two organisations and groups.

Her polyjuice-potion store was running out, she knew it.

One hand nervously grabbed hold of her small beaded handbag while the other was near her wand in her arm sleeve, all time ready.

'A freesia for the young lady, maybe? The plant stands for friendship and trust! Or perhaps yellow roses, Miss? Always good for a devoted and healthy friendship, yes, yes!'

Hermione stared at the old round man with the happy smile and the friendly shining eyes.

 _Friendship?_

 _Devotion?_

 _Trust?_

'Ah, I know now what suits the lady's mind. Red roses _—_ love, passion and warmth! Yes, yes, young love. Is there anything more beautiful and stronger in the world?'

 _Love?_

 _Passion?_

 _Warmth?_

Hermione hadn't felt warm in weeks.

A certain eating feeling of coldness, emptiness and darkness was filling her. Every second since that terrible day was ripping pieces from her once so-innocent and pure soul.

She had lost _everything_.

Where were her friends?

Dead or gone.

Where were her parents?

In Australia, having different names and no memory of their only daughter.

Where was _he_?

She did not know.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to know it, either.

The only thing that she was certain about was that she had to find the only person she trusted in this goddamned world.

The memory of Ron's warm blue eyes and his glowing red hair caused a stab in her guts.

She missed him, she needed him, she wanted to see and hug him.

He was the only thing she was living for, right now.

Maybe she could never ever see and touch her mother and father again. The war was lost, wasn't it? They would only get killed or tortured for being muggles and the parents of a filthy Mudblood.

She still wondered why Ha _—_ why _he_ had allowed her to keep breathing when he had ended all of the people's lives he once cared about.

 _No._

That was wrong _._

He had _never_ cared about one single of them.

He had made that obvious, eventually.

What if she would ever meet him again? What would she do? What _—_

 _There_ _—_

There!

Hermione had to keep her feelings down; she was trembling again. _Why was she so weak?_

She exhaled, calming herself down. This had to go well or she would ruin everything, her and Ron's lives included.

Looking like a blond and tall muggle woman with big brown eyes and black lashes, she ran into the man with the brown hat that covered the red hair she had so desperately missed that the sight of it kicked the air out of her lungs.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!' she said when the papers Ron had been holding fell on the ground.

'It's alright,' his beautifully soft voice said, 'That can happen.'

Hermione picked them up and hid a note from her between them. 'There you go,' she whispered with a smile, handing him his papers back.

Ron, with a red beard, smiled back at her, his blue eyes were shining at the sight of his only left friend. _Of his family._

Their ways parted, Hermione went back to the man with the beautiful flowers, and Ron kept going towards a dark corner in which he wanted to disapparate from.

Before he did so, he looked for Hermione's note and read it.

 _"Ron,_

 _I have managed to get rid of six of my followers. I'm certain the last two won't be a problem._

 _9 pm_ _—_ _where my parents had to drag me back home from?_

 _We can finally meet._

 _I missed you,_

 _Hermione_

 _P.S.: You've got dirt on your nose."_

He couldn't hold back a sad smile. She had become quite tough, taking out six Death Eaters without any visible injuries. He couldn't help but envy her, since he still felt his arm hurt with every movement; he had needed all his strength to take out his followers.

'My, my, Hermione. You never cease to impress me,' he whispered to himself before disapparating to the Forest of Dean where he was finally going to embrace his friend.

* * *

Impatient.

Over the years, he had grown to be quite impatient.

He did not wish to wait any second longer; why had it been so hard for these stupid Death Eaters to track her down?

To be frank, he was well aware of the answer to this question; after all, he knew her well enough to realise how clever she was. They wouldn't be capable of catching her, unless she wanted them to.

Poor Hermione.

She must have been incredibly confused and desperate, hiding herself and being on the run _—_ from _what_ exactly?

She had nothing to fear from him, not _her_.

Hadn't he made that clear when he had spared her precious life while he had mercilessly murdered all these other people?

Why couldn't she see that she was the only person in the world that he would never lay a hand on?

She was everything.

She was his everything.

'My, my, Hermione,' he whispered softly to himself. 'How long can you hide from me, my little genius?'

His bright emerald eyes flickered to the table with the students wearing scarlet and gold, the colours he himself used to wear.

He watched the students closely; they were different. The whole atmosphere in the Great Hall was different from how it had been during his days there.

Hogwarts had changed, indeed.

Muggle-born wizards and witches were no longer wished; to say it in other words, if any of them would walk through these doors, they would immediately be killed. He was aware of the Snatchers's activities that mainly included the hunt of those students that were hiding.

He didn't care; he had already made sure that one of them was sacred.

He felt the eyes of a boy on himself and met Neville Longbottom's gaze.

Pure hatred and loathing stared back at Voldemort's strongest soldier. Once upon a time, that boy and the young Death Eater had been quite good friends, actually.

Well, if one could call it _friends_.

After all, all his life had been a charade. He had been an immensely outstanding actor.

The thought of it was fascinating; everyone, every single person Harry Potter had ever met during his life would have never imagined the Boy Who Lived in dark robes, with a silvery mask and the Dark Mark.

 _Fools,_ he thought. _What fools. That just shows that none of them ever truly knew me. Maybe only her. She had always tried to keep my temperament in check, didn't she? She had always looked after me, made sure I was doing alright and nothing stupid or even bad—yes, Hermione is the only one, the only one that ever knew me. My only one._

'I'm leaving,' he said to the Carrows, ignoring Minerva McGonagall's watching eyes.

'Where are you going, my lord?' asked Lucius Malfoy, the new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Harry looked at him with his usual pair of cold eyes. 'That's not your concern,' he answered. 'Voldemort knows about it, that should be enough.'

'Of course, my lord,' said Lucius, almost trembling as much as he did in the company of his master.

'Make sure there is more discipline when I return,' Harry said, looking at his former classmates Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Lavender Brown, and Parvati Patil, who were all staring at him with angry eyes. 'And let me know when Hagrid shows up. I'm very interested in a conversation with him.'

'Understood.'

Harry stood up, his gaze met McGonagall's for a second (he had never seen her looking at someone with so much abhorrence like now), before he went down to the Entrance Hall. He enjoyed the children turning to stone when he walked past them.

 _It is certainly a good feeling to be feared,_ Harry thought to himself, before entering Hogsmeade and eventually apparating from his former home's grounds.


	3. Drastic Changes

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Drastic Changes**

 _It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT NO WOHSI._

 _His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it._

 _He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed_ _—_ _for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him._

 _But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror._

 _There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder_ _—_ _but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?_

 _He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air_ _—_ _she and the others existed only in the mirror._

 _She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green - exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did._

 _Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection._

 _'Mum?' he whispered. 'Dad?'_

 _They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees_ _—_ _Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life._

 _The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness._

 _How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, 'I'll come back,' and hurried from the room._

 _His late mother's shining emerald eyes and his dead father's messy black hair had made it crystal clear to him what he'd lost. The sight of them standing right next to him, so close but at the same time untouchable, had been like a kick in his guts, and the memory still was._

 _None of all these great wizards and witches, no person in the whole Wizarding World had been able to save Lily and James Potter._

 _They had left him with an abusive, cold-hearted family that saw an abomination when they looked at him. They had been ignoring him, yelling at him, cursing him, leaving him, breaking him._

 _They would suffer soon enough._

 _All of them._

 _Everyone who's left him endure the most miserable childhood._

* * *

Little Whinging, Surrey.

Privet Drive, number four.

The ordinary garden in front of the normal house caused steaming hot water to bubble inside the young man. An unbearable feeling of pure hatred, terrible anger and extreme aggression ripped his insides apart, making him wish for relief by the only thing that may choke it.

Dumbledore had brought him here at the age of only a few months. He had forgotten about the black-haired small boy that held the Wizarding World's hopes and dreams on his shoulders. Harry grew up and still did the old fool ignore him - surely he would be _alright_ , wouldn't he?

But Harry hadn't been alright.

 _Never._

He had wished for distant relatives surprisingly showing up to take the boy away from the cruel family, for Merlin's sake! How desperate must he have been?

But it hadn't matter to anyone, no-one had come to take him to a place he could finally call home.

Everyone shows up when they need something for themselves.

And so it had been for Harry.

That half-giant breed had come. Dumbledore had sent him; to introduce him to the world he belonged to, that his parents had belonged to, before their lives had been brutally ended.

Harry had been Dumbledore's secret weapon in store, hadn't he? The Master of Manipulation had thought he could play the hero taking him from his terrible old life to his new wonderful one, hadn't he? Thinking that everything would turn out how he had planned and wished for it, he had taught the boy everything about Voldemort's life, secrets and weaknesses. It would only help the boy to beat the world's biggest enemy, wouldn't it?

And yet, here he was; finally a man with the Dark Mark and an increasing desire to wipe his past.

His footsteps came closer and closer until he eventually stood right in front of the door that hid his old self's fears and nightmares.

His wand in the right hand, he raised his left one and knocked on the door. He couldn't hold back a happy smile _—_ how long had he been waiting for this _special_ moment?

 _Grunting_. His cousin must be at home, fortunately. The door swung open and the immense features of Dudley Dursley came clear.

His thick eyebrows almost looked like one; as usual, he seemed to be heavily confused. That _poor_ boy. Logical thinking had never been one of his strengths.

'Good evening, Big D,' said Harry, smiling a cold, small grin, 'I wonder if you and your parents are in the mood for a little chat?'

Dudley stared at him with round, small eyes that were filled with fear. He looked frozen, not being able to move a single finger.

Harry sighed. 'It is rude to not invite your guests in, Dudley. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?'

'Diddy?' a female voice said. 'Diddy, who is it?'

A few seconds later, the horse-like face of Petunia Dursley appeared next to her only son's. The woman was much faster at thinking rationally than the fat boy standing beside her.

She tried to slam the door shut but Harry's foot didn't make that possible, so she grabbed her son and pulled him into the living room.

'Vernon! _Vernon_! It's _him_! It's Harry! Oh, god, _oh god_ , Vernon!'

Harry took his time. After all, it wasn't like the Dursleys could escape him. Nobody could. Not when he has sworn to execute them by himself.

The familiar kitchen was perfectly clean, just how it has always been.

Harry's eyes met the tiny place he had slept in as a child and his fury took charge again; he kicked against the door until it cracked open and revealed something that one could call a small bed-like thing. His now dark green eyes were fixed on a horse-figure that had been his only toy; he took it in his hands and stared down at it.

'What are you doing here, boy? What do you want from us, _eh_?' a male voice said.

Harry was well aware of the fact that Vernon Dursley was pointing a shotgun at him, trying to hide his wife and son behind his massive back.

Harry sighed, putting the toy back to its former place and turning to the three muggles fearing his presence more than their have ever.

'Put that thing down, Dursley, you'll only end up hurting yourself,' said Harry with a small sigh.

His lovely uncle wasn't honestly expecting to take a wizard like Harry down with such a silly toy for muggles, was he?

But it seemed he was.

 _He should be taught to listen to his superiors,_ Harry thought.

Before any of the Dursleys could react, Harry raised his wand and pointed it at the so-called weapon in his uncle's hands.

Without being able to control his actions, the gun turned itself around, being now directed at his owner who looked like he was going to faint.

'What _—_ _What_ are you doing, dad? Harry is standing right _there_!' whimpered Dudley, stepping a few metres away from his father.

Petunia, on the other hand, tried desperately to get back hold of the shotgun, but she only ended up being stunned.

' _Mum_!' screamed Dudley. 'Dad, stop it!'

'I _—_ I can't! I _can't_! That terrible boy _—_ _he's_ doing it! Stop it, _boy_!'

'Yeah? Or what? Or you will slap me again? Push me around? Stop giving me food, letting me starve like a sick animal? Or rather calling me an abomination, a _freak_ , making me want to die? What exactly are you going to do if I won't do as you say, Vernon _fucking_ Dursley?' said Harry with an ice-cold grin, causing his cousin to tremble and shiver. 'Sweet vengeance, don't you agree?' And before any of them could answer, the gun in Vernon's hands fired a bullet straight into the man's chest.

Him falling to the ground caused Dudley to fall as well. He crawled to his father and looked in horror at the increasing stain of blood on Vernon's pullover.

Petunia gasped, reaching out for her dying husband, but Harry was now pointing his wand at her; she could hear him mutter an incarnation and seconds later she was pushed against the wall by an invisible force.

'Please, Harry! Don't do this! _Please_ , I am _begging_ you, please! Spare us!' she yelled. She couldn't hope for their neighbours to hear her and come to help; surely Harry wasn't stupid enough to enter this house without making sure he was left alone with the job he thought he had to do to keep living.

' _You_ are begging _me_?' Harry repeated amused. 'How many times did I beg you to give me some food? How many times did I beg you for clothes that actually fit me? How many times did I beg you to _love_ me, eh, Petunia? My dear aunt, are you really as stupid as your son to think that I would have come her tonight to spare your lives?'

He shook his head, laughing to himself. It sounded horrible mixed with Dudley's whimper, Vernon's screams, and Petunia's cries.

'No,' whispered Harry. 'Of course I am _not_ going to spare any of you sick bastards.'

Harry crashed Dudley into the wall, then again, and again, until all air was kicked out of the whimpering boy's lungs and he resembled his beloved vanilla pudding more than a human being.

Petunia screamed, cried and sobbed while Harry put out a knife and kneeled over her almost dead husband.

Harry started to write something on Vernon's forehead. The man was so weak, he only managed to tremble under him.

When he got up and looked down at his masterpiece, Petunia could finally read what was now covering her husband's bloody face.

 _MAGIC_

Harry laughed, seeming to be proud with himself. 'Quite good, isn't it?' he said. 'The terrible _'M'_ word looks really pretty on that ugly face, doesn't it, Auntie?'

'You're sick, you're crazy, you've completely gone _insane_! Do you hear me, _Potter_? You are a _lunatic_!'

Harry turned around to see Dudley, trying to stand on his weakened feet. 'I'm what, Big D? I'm a lunatic? Yes? And guess _who_ has made me one, Dudley.'

Harry turned the bloodied knife in his hands, smirking, and looked back at Petunia Dursley who watched him through hot tears.

'It is not _my_ fault, not any of this, do you hear me? _You_ foolish people are to blame. How could you? How could any of you do what you've done to me? I was a _child_ , for god's sake! You are the ones who've gone insane, not me! And tonight is the night you're paying the price for it!'

* * *

When Vernon Dursley, his wife Petunia and their son Dudley were finally found, and Harry had made sure they would be, every person that entered Privet Drive Number Four ended up vomiting, even the experienced Aurors.

The once always clean kitchen was no longer recognisable to be one. The whole house looked like a slaughterhouse. Everywhere were blood, organs, filth.

'Can we even say _who_ these corpses are?'

'We know who's lived here. And we know who would do something... _monstrous_ like this.'

' _Harry Potter_.'

'There's nothing we can do. He's untouchable; and believe me, you _don't want to_ touch him.'

'Harry Potter...'

All of them stared at the staircase's door that was covered with the word ' _Magic_ ' repeatedly.

'He's written it with their blood?'

'He is insane. And he's on You-Know-Who's side; the world is lost, the war is lost. We should enjoy our last days alive and in freedom. There's no hope.'

 _Hope._

Harry would make sure none of their hopes existed any longer.

They would pay.

All of them would pay for their crimes.

* * *

The Forest of Dean.

Hermione couldn't stop thinking about her beloved parents while sitting on a cold stone next to the lake and waiting for Ron to finally show up.

Everything had been different, then.

She had not know that she was something special, something bigger than she had been at that moment; a _witch_.

Her mother used to sing for her when her father had been fishing at which he terribly failed. But he hadn't given up, her father. He had always been stubborn, just like Harry.

 _Harry._

The mere memory of his pale face with the bright green eyes that she had fallen in love with so long ago, and his usual untidy jet black hair that she had always wanted to feel between her fingers, made her shiver. And his smile, _god_ , his smile - it had changed _so_ much inside her. And then there was his laughter _—_ his beautiful, _beautiful_ laughter. When he had been on his broomstick, flying around, she had been just as happy as him.

The thing that she missed most about him was his voice.

His strong voice that caused goosebumps to appear on her neck when he was talking.

He used to use it to make her feel safe, and loved.

Today, he used it to kill, manipulate and lie.

 _God_ _—_ how _long_ had he been lying?

She couldn't believe what an impeccable talent for acting he had.

' _Hermione!_ '

Hermione looked eagerly around. Her light brown eyes were fixed on the freckled redhead that came running towards her.

Immediately, she got up.

' _Ron!_ ' she whispered. Tears started to fill her eyes. The next thing she realised were his warm arms around her. 'It's _so_ good to see you properly, Ron.'

'Yes, it is,' he muttered in her ear.

'Did anyone follow you?'

'No, I don't think so. My beard is quite convincing, I guess,' he said with a weak smile, slowly letting her go.

Hermione noticed that his usally soft blue eyes have turned into a dark tone. 'How are you?'

'Well...' sighed Ron. 'I don't really know. I miss _them_ , Hermione. So much it tears me apart. And the fact that-that my _best friend_ did it... I feel beyond betrayed, Hermione.'

Her fingers trailed down his cold cheeks. 'Me too.'

'What are we going to do?'

'What do you mean by that, Ron?'

'Hermione,' he said silently. 'We both know that _he's_ after me.'

'Not _just_ you.'

'Yes.' He shook his head, looking seriously down at her. 'Just _me_. He has spared _you_. That must mean _something_. You are safe. And as much as I want to be with you _—_ I don't want you to get into trouble, just because Harry wants to kill me.'

'What?' Hermione froze. 'You want to part ways _again_?'

'I believe it's better, Hermione.'

' _No!_ ' Her voice rose. 'No, Ron! I already lost H _—_ Harry. Please don't do this to me.'

Ron smiled a small smile. 'I have never been as good as Harry, or as you. I won't be able to protect you.'

'We will protect _each other_ , Ron! You are a _Weasley_ , you are beyond good, do you hear me? We can't lose each other when we've already lost everything else, don't you understand, Ron?'

Ron fell silent at her words.

'Okay.'

'Okay,' she answered relieved.

'Do you know what happened to Hagrid?' he asked with big, worried eyes.

'No, I haven't heard anything about him, but I am pretty sure he's okay, you know him, he's tough.'

'Yeah, but I also thought that I knew Harry, so.'

Hermione looked down at her fingers.

'Oi, what about Snape? Now that Harry is a Death-Eater and since Snape's actually one of us... What happened to the old git?' Ron said.

'I heard two wizards in London talking about him,' Hermione said, 'He's imprisoned.'

'In Azkaban?'

'No, in the Death Eaters' Headquarters, I guess.'

The both of them didn't say anything. They just sat side by side, hugging each other, clinging on to the only person each of them had left.

Things had changed drastically.


	4. Friends And Enemies

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Friends And Enemies**

 _'Potter, I think you'd better come with me...'_

 _Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron detach himself from the complaining crowd; he came running up to them as they set off toward the castle. To Harry's surprise, Professor McGonagall didn't object._

 _'Yes, perhaps you'd better come, too, Weasley...'_

 _Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. Harry and Ron followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up the marble staircase. But they weren't taken to anybody's office this time._

 _'This will be a bit of a shock,' said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. 'There has been another attack... another double attack.'_

 _Harry's insides did a horrible somersault. Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and he and Ron entered. Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Harry recognized her as the Ravenclaw they'd accidentally asked for directions to the Slytherin common room. And on the bed next to her was-_

 _'Hermione!' Ron groaned._

 _Hermione lay utterly still, her eyes open and glassy._

 _'They were found near the library,' said Professor McGonagall. 'I don't suppose either of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them...'_

 _She was holding up a small, circular mirror._

 _Harry and Ron shook their heads, both staring at Hermione._

 _Why was he feeling like this?_

 _Why was he feeling like his insides were ripping themselves apart?_

 _Why was he feeling like his skin was on fire?_

 _Why was he feeling like every cell inside him was dying a terrible, horrible death?_

 _Because he was._

 _Hermione was doing this to him, that incredible girl_ — _what would he do without her by his side? He had gotten quite used to her clever, sometimes irritating comments._

 _What was happening to him?_

* * *

'Hermione,' said Ron after a few moments of silence filled with warmth and trust. 'We can't hide from him, you know that, don't you? He will find us, no matter where. It's only about time.'

Hermione's eyes flickered up. She was leaning against Ron's shoulder and therefore could only see his profile. He had gone quite pale, his lips were dry. He looked so much older—where was the funny boy who preferred to laugh with his two best friends than to talk about anything serious and uncomfortable? Where was the joking redhead that hated Potions class and the Slytherins rather than his own best friend? Where was the unbreakable bond of the Golden Trio?

'I know,' she whispered eventually.

Ron looked down at her. 'Maybe... maybe if we would just _talk_ to him...'

 _Talk?_ The mere imagination of seeing Harry's oh-so-familiar features caused her to shiver. She doubted she could force words leaving her lips in his presence and under his sharp gaze.

'I—I don't know, Ron. I doubt I'll be able to say something to Harry, _especially_ something that causes him to turn back to our best friend,' muttered Hermione.

It seemed there was no direction they could head to without ending up facing Harry. Either he would come for them, which he would, or they would go looking for him.

But what could they say or do to make him the Harry they knew? What were their possibilities? Hermione couldn't think of one. As much as she wanted to have the person back that her heart was craving, she did not know how to achieve that.

'I don't want to die being hunted down by _my best friend_. I—I just can't. I want to fight. I want to know that I've tried to get him back. I won't live like _this_ , Hermione.'

She just stared at the fishes swimming in the ice-cold lake, her grip on Ron's arm tightening. 'You are right.'

Ron exhaled slowly, so, so slowly. 'But how? Should we just wait here for him to come? Because he will, eventually.'

But Hermione was already standing, pushing the bushy brown hair out of her hard face. 'The Grimmauld Place. Harry has inherited it, hasn't he? He certainly has put some charms and curses on the house, in case some left Order members or others enter it.'

Ron looked confused. 'You—you want to go there?'

'I don't really want to, but we have to, Ron, just like you said. It's better than allowing him to hunt us down. We should show him that we're not afraid of him,' answered Hermione. She shivered—certainly not because of the cold.

'So, we just show up there, and he does, too? What if he thinks it's a trap or something?'

'What does it matter?' she said. 'He will come, I know that he will.'

'OK,' he whispered, joining her with a heavy sigh.

'Now?' she asked uncertainly.

'Yes, now. Ready?' Ron held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.

She looked at it, lost in thoughts.

Was she ready? Ready to meet the man she had once known as a boy? Ready to look into those cold green eyes? Ready to speak to him again, after months? Ready to hear his beautiful voice?

'Yes, I am ready.'

But she wasn't.

And as she took Ron's hand, holding on to it, being pressed into utter darkness, she knew that he wasn't either.

* * *

He just entered the salon while all Death Eaters were leaving, being finished with the meeting Voldemort had set up concerning the latest updates on Hogwarts and the Ministry.

Bellatrix was the last one to leave her master's side. Harry's green eyes met her black ones; she looked at him with a mixture of deep jealousy, never ceasing hate and suppressed desire.

' _Ah,_ Harry, my boy. It is good to see you again, it truly is,' said Voldemort's high, slow voice. 'Close the doors, Bella. Harry and I are wishing for a private conversation, aren't we, Harry?'

Harry did not answer; he sat down, next to Voldemort's right, and stared at Bellatrix who unwillingly closed the doors, having something dark in her eyes.

Harry could feel the Dark Lord's shining red, snake-like eyes on him. 'Have you done what you wished to do?'

'Yes,' answered Harry. He couldn't hold back a bright grin at the memory of all the blood in Privet Drive, number four.

Voldemort's gaze was observing the joyful, young face of Harry Potter. The boy surprised him time and time again; he resembled Voldemort after he had murdered his father and his paternal grandparents. 'I am pleased to hear that. It was in your right, after all.'

'Certainly, Tom. I feel even better than after killing all those filthy Order members.' Harry sighed, dwelling in memories.

'Of course,' said Voldemort silently. 'Harry, my boy, I am intending on sending a few Death-Eaters to take out a wizard family in the South of Britain, achieving to intimidate the people left fighting against us.'

'Oh, there are more people fighting us than you believe, Tom,' said Harry with a smile. 'Hogwarts is filled with them.'

'I am aware of that, Harry. Hogwarts will take more time to take fully control over, that is for certain. Hogwarts is still... _shaped_ by Albus Dumbledore, unfortunately,' he said.

'Sure,' Harry answered. 'And as thrilling your plan sounds, I'm afraid I won't be able to join the party.'

Voldemort watched the growing boy closely; he had changed so much. How could he have seen a soldier on Dumbledore's side in him?

'What is it you are intending to do, Harry?' asked Voldemort somewhat interested.

'There is still a Weasley out there waiting for me, isn't he?' Harry said. 'I shall deal with him.'

'Enjoy it, my boy,' whispered Voldemort while Harry got up.

'I certainly will, Tom.'

Before Harry reached the door to leave the presence of the Dark Lord and enter his chambers, Voldemort's voice spoke once again.

'And Harry,' he said with his lips-less smile. 'Be careful with Bella. She seems to be immensely _interested_ in you, one can say that with just a look at her eyes.'

* * *

The black-haired young man sat down on the giant bed of his, turning his back to the black wooden door and staring out of the window of his chambers. All he could see was deep darkness, stretching itself over the land like an increasing plague.

 _Darkness._

He had always felt quite comfortable in dark places. It was only him and silence and peace, then. No-one to infuriate him, nothing to bother him.

Unconsciously, he drew his wand out and directed it at the door behind him. There was a _click_ and the doors fell open; exposing a dark-haired woman with the beauty and madness that brought the name Black.

He could hear her cease in her fast breathing until she exhaled heavily and stepped into his chambers. The door closed itself.

'Sneaking around my chambers, Bellatrix?' he said calmly, his green eyes still fixed on the overwhelming darkness outside the window.

High breathing came closer to him. He could feel her climbing onto his bed, crawling towards his back.

Her long nails traveled up and down his spin.

'What exactly is it that you want from me, Bellatrix?' he asked, knowing the answer too well. After all, her glances spoke for themselves. He wasn't stupid.

'I figured you may be exhausted after your little job with the filthy Muggles,' she whispered, centimetres away from his ear, speaking with a hot and wet breath. 'Perhaps I can help you _relax_.'

He smirked, finally taking his emerald eyes off the window.

Her hands wandered from his back over to his neck and eventually up to his messy black hair, burying her pale fingers in them. She sighed, slowly leaning closer to him, leaving a single wet kiss on his shoulder.

'You... have become surprisingly _interesting_ to me, Potter,' she muttered while she slowly pulled down his black cloak. 'I never thought you could be so ruthless. And strong.'

He finally turned towards her. He just looked down at the desperate, crazy woman kneeling in front of him; his expression gave no thoughts or feelings away.

She flinched involuntarily under his gaze, but recovered fast. 'You are no longer the silly boy that came to my cousin's unnecessary rescue.'

Suddenly, he smiled. It was no happy smile. 'I am half your age, my dear.'

' _And?_ ' she said. 'I am still beautiful, and you, you are a man, aren't you?'

'My, my, Bella,' he said silently, allowing the female Death Eater to relieve him of his black shirt that was covered by dried blood. The sight of it caused Bella's breathing to quicken. 'The insane Bellatrix Lestrange attempting to seduce the Boy Who Lived? What would the people say?'

'I don't care.'

'I _do_ wonder what your precious husband would think of this. You do remember him, Bella, don't you?' he whispered with an evil grin.

Bellatrix' hands stopped in the middle of undressing him. 'Don't mention that fool to me. He doesn't matter to me, I only married him for political reasons, you are aware of that.'

'Oh, yes, I am, Bella.'

Bellatrix smiled her famous wide grin. He could feel her cold fingers wander down to his left arm, her black eyes big as she took in his Dark Mark. 'It certainly looks beautiful on you.'

And eventually, she crashed her thin lips onto his own. Her hands both on his back, she pressed her curvery body as closely to his as possible.

Her mouth fell open, and just as she thought she would finally get what she wanted, he pushed her away, causing her to fall to the cold stone ground.

'I thought I made myself clear, Bellatrix,' he snapped, his voice rising with fury.

He pointed his wand at her. ' _Crucio!_ '

She cried out in sheer agony, rolling herself into a ball. As Bellatrix felt her favourite curse cutting every cell in her body, she kept on screaming for minutes and minutes.

'Do not _ever_ —'

 _Pain, pain, PAIN_ —

'Touch me—'

 _Her skin was on fire, it was unimaginable pain that streamed through her body._

'AGAIN!'

And finally, he lifted the curse from her.

She had never felt something like that before; it was over, luckily, and still she could feel the pain, as if it had burned itself into her brain, never letting her forget it.

And she surely, surely would never forget it.

'One must _really_ want it to cause serious pain. Weren't _you_ the one that told me this, Bella? So, tell me. _Were_ you in pain? _Did_ you want to die to make it stop? _Answer me!_ '

Threateningly, he raised his wand again, but she gave in, eventually. They all did.

'Yes.'

He smiled. 'Good. You shall leave now.'

Without hesitation, Bellatrix stood up. As far as her weakened legs allowed her, she left his chambers as fast as possible.

 _Yes, they all gave in._

* * *

His footsteps could not be noticed.

He moved softly, silently, just like a cat on the hunt for a mouse.

His breathing was low, it could not be heard; not even by himself.

The familiar features of the salon came into his sight, and yet he ignored it.

 _He heard the bark-like laughter of his godfather, a joke told by Fred and George, the disapproving voice of Molly Weasley, a story expressed by Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley, a well-known warning spoken out by Moody, a lamp that had fallen to the ground because of Tonks, the giggle of Ginny, Hermione telling Ron to stop making fun of S.P.E.W._

But when he turned around, his bright green eyes wide, darkness was the only thing that looked back at him.

It was not real.

Of course, they were all dead.

 _Apart from_ —

'We are here, Harry,' said an all-too-familiar male voice. He had heard that voice for the first time when he had been sitting in the train, alone and insecure, unsure if any of it was really happening.

 _The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in._

 _'Anyone sitting there?' he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Harry. 'Everywhere else is full.'_

 _Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Harry saw he still had a black mark on his nose._

 _'Hey, Ron.'_

 _The twins were back._

 _'Listen, we're going down the middle of the train - Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there.'_

 _'Right,' mumbled Ron._

 _'Harry,' said the other twin, 'did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then.'_

 _'Bye,' said Harry and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them._

 _'Are you really Harry Potter?' Ron blurted out._

 _Harry nodded._

 _'Oh - well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes,' said Ron. 'And have you really got - you know...'_

 _He pointed at Harry's forehead._

 _Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightning scar. Ron stared._

 _'So that's where You-Know-Who - ?'_

 _'Yes,' said Harry, 'but I can't remember it.'_

 _'Nothing?' said Ron eagerly._

 _'Well - I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.'_

 _'Wow,' said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again._

Harry entered the messy bedroom of his late godfather. He had never been there before, he noticed. Nonetheless, it was no surprise; posters of half-naked Muggle girls and motorcycles, the walls were furthermore covered by the Gryffindor flag, and he could see a photo of his godfather as a student with his three closest friends.

Harry's eyes were fixed on his father's joyful laughter, until he focused on the person standing in the middle of the room.

Ronald Weasley was staring back at him, his wand loosely at his side. He was paler than he had ever been in his life.

His eyes wandered over to the other person and stayed there; _oh_ , how long had it been since he had last seen _her_?

She looked different, somehow. There was something dark in her usual soft and innocent brown eyes. He had never seen such a hard expression on her face, not even when she had started to fight for elf-rights.

He couldn't hold back a small smile. To his surprise, she stepped a few centimetres back.

'Don't look at her,' Ron said with a hard voice. 'You are here for me, aren't you? Stop staring at her like _that_.'

'Like _what_ , exactly?' he asked, smirking.

'Stop _smirking_ , for god's sake!'

Harry sighed. 'You've always had a bad temperament, Weasley.'

'You are one to talk!' Ron hissed furious. Ron couldn't hold back his anger; after all, that person had wiped his family's and friends' lives. No matter how much he wanted his best friend back, he would never forget that. _Never_.

'I have do admit, I am surprised that you've come here, from your own free will, Weasley.'

'Is it really that surprising, Harry?' Ron said, forcing himself to calm down. 'I won't run from you.'

'What have you been doing the past few months, then?' Harry said and laughed shortly. Before Ron could even open his mouth to answer, he added, 'Nonetheless, I am more interested in why _you_ have been hiding from me, Hermione.'

A mixture of ice-cold water and steaming hot flames were flooding her heart when he said her name.

He was looking at her. No— _staring_ , with the pair of his so-familiar eyes that had finally given in to their darkness.

'I—,' she whispered, hoping he wouldn't hear a single word. 'I have witnessed you _murdering_ Ron's family and the Order. That's why.'

'I know. I have spared you, after all, haven't I?'

Hermione bit down on her lip. She _knew_ that. Of course she did. But _why_ —

'You are wondering why I've spared your life, Hermione?' his voice said.

 _Stop saying my name,_ she thought desperately.

'Isn't it obvious?'

'It's not obvious to _me_ —' Ron began to say, until Harry waved his wand and his voice died away.

'Certainly it's not obvious to _you_ , Weasley. You have never been a quick thinker,' muttered Harry irritated, rolling his eyes before fixing them on Hermione's face once again.

'Stop saying that,' Hermione whispered. 'Ron's ten times better than you.'

The pain that streamed through her was unbearable. She would have never thought to say something like that. _Why did all of this must happen?_

Harry's expression didn't alter. 'Is he? Do you remember how he made you feel before the Troll's attack in our first year or after the Yule Ball in our fourth year?'

How could she ever forget _that_? For the first time in her life, she had felt beautiful. Worthy of looking at. And then—

 _No._

She could not think of Ron like that.

Ron turned around to her, moving his lips with a desperate expression, but Hermione shook her head, signalling him that it was alright.

'Well,' he said, finally lifting the charm from Ron. 'We want to hear your cries before you eventually die, don't we?'

' _NO!_ '

Harry looked back at Hermione.

'You can't kill him, H—Harry!'

'I _can_ , actually. I thought you'd know about my abilities by now, Hermione? But don't worry. I will never use them on you.'

'Why?'

That was Ron's voice. It sounded harsh and hard. Hermione had never heard him speak like that before. 'Why will you spare her? Not that it _bothers_ me... I just... I want an _answer_.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I do not have to justify my actions to you, Weasley.'

Hermione stepped closer to Harry, causing Ron to stare at her with a surprised expression.

'Please,' she said, her voice full of emotion. 'Please, don't kill him. You—you can take us prisoners, if you will, but _please_ , don't kill him.'

To the surprise of everyone, Harry's facial features seemed to soften for a second. 'My dear Hermione. I'm afraid I can't do that. Certainly, you will come with me, but Weasley is to be disposed of.'

'Who said that?' Ron asked aggressively. 'Your new mate Voldemort, eh? Your new boss? I see. You'd do _anything_ for that scum, wouldn't you? He's killed your _parents_ , for Merlin's sake, Harry! How the bloody hell can you side with _him_?'

'And again, Weasley,' Harry said irritated. 'I don't have to justify my actions to you, you fool. You shouldn't over-excite yourself.'

'Do you even hear yourself talk?' Ron shouted. 'We're _friends_! We've gone through _so_ much together! How can you—how _could_ you—'

Ron made the impression of searching for the right words to express his rage and despair. 'Does none of this mean anything to you? Don't you _feel_ when you look at me? At us? Don't you—'

Harry's hand was so fast, Hermione and Ron could barely register it; his wand made a soft, but quick movement before they knew what happened.

Ron fell to the ground, his eyes closed, unconscious or—

'He's not dead, Hermione,' Harry said coldly. 'Well, not yet.'

He kneeled over the body of Ron, rather unwillingly and hardly grabbing him by his red hair, almost ripping them out.

'What—'

'Come here. We shall apparate now to your new home,' he said, reaching out for Hermione. 'Take my hand.'

She would have given so much for him to say those three words to her, back to her schooldays.

'Stop wasting time, Hermione,' he added, just as impatiently as always.

Slowly, she reached out for him. Her fingers slid into his, surprised that they were warm.


	5. Guest Or Prisoner

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Guest Or Prisoner**

'This _Potter,' said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, 'you never told me what he did?'_

 _Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents._

 _'He_ — _didn't work,' said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. 'Unemployed.'_

 _'As I expected!' said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. 'A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who_ — _'_

 _'He was not,' said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life._

 _'MORE BRANDY!' yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass. 'You, boy,' he snarled at Harry. 'Go to bed, go on_ — _'_

 _'No, Vernon,' hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. 'Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect)_ — _'_

 _'They didn't die in a car crash!' said Harry, who found himself on his feet._

 _'They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!' screamed Aunt Marge, swelling with fury. 'You are an insolent, ungrateful little_ — _'_

 _But Aunt Marge suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. She seemed to be swelling with inexpressible anger - but the swelling didn't stop. Her great red face started to expand, her tiny eyes bulged, and her mouth stretched too tightly for speech - next second, several buttons had just burst from her tweed jacket and pinged off the walls - she was inflating like a monstrous balloon, her stomach bursting free of her tweed waistband, each of her fingers blowing up like a salami_ —

 _'MARGE!' yelled Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia together as Aunt Marge's whole body began to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She was entirely round, now, like a vast life buoy with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she drifted up into the air, making apoplectic popping noises. Ripper came skidding into the room, barking madly._

 _NOOOOOOO!'_

 _Uncle Vernon seized one of Marge's feet and tried to pull her down again, but was almost lifted from the floor himself. A second later, Ripper leapt forward and sank his teeth into Uncle Vernon's leg._

 _Harry tore from the dining room before anyone could stop him, heading for the cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard door burst magically open as he reached it. In seconds, he had heaved his trunk to the front door. He sprinted upstairs and threw himself under the bed, wrenching up the loose floorboard, and grabbed the pillowcase full of his books and birthday presents. He wriggled out, seized Hedwig's empty cage, and dashed back downstairs to his trunk, just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters._

 _'COME BACK IN HERE!' he bellowed. 'COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!'_

 _But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon._

 _'She deserved it,' Harry said, breathing very fast. 'She deserved what she got. You keep away from me.'_

 _He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door._

 _'I'm going,' Harry said. 'I've had enough. You all should be grateful I didn't kill her, yet. Or any of you. Because one day, I will!'_

 _And in the next moment, he was out in the dark, quiet street, heaving his heavy trunk behind him, Hedwig's cage under his arm._

 _Certainly they had never thought he was serious._

 _He was only thirteen, after all. Just an angry boy with a bad temperament._

 _Years later, the Dursleys wished they would have taken him seriously._

 _Perhaps things would have been different, then._

 _Perhaps._

* * *

She was not aware of the Death Eaters' headquarter's location. When the former three best friends had appeared out of sheer, tight darkness, all Hermione could recognise was a black, vast castle. It was almost laughable; all these monsters seemed to care about was looks and shallowness.

Immediately after their appearance, she had let go of his hand, pressing hers tightly to her chest, not daring to look at him. Instead, her brown eyes were fixed on the still unconscious boy.

Hermione could hear him mutter an incantation, his wand directed at Ron. Seconds later, he was flying in the air, controlled by Harry.

'Come along,' he said calmly, walking towards the iron gate in front of the dark castle.

He stopped, rolling up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark that Voldemort had burnt into his forearm. She watched him holding his arm against the gate with disgusted eyes.

It wasn't right; he shouldn't be wearing that terrible, _terrible_ thing on his body.

The gate clicked and opened itself, allowing them to go through.

As they walked down the long, deserted courtyard outside the castle, Ron hovering in front of them, Hermione noticed yellowish glowing lights in the dark bushes around them.

The sight of them caused an unpleasant tingling in her neck. Involuntarily, she approached him a bit closer, avoiding the plants carefully.

She could feel his watching eyes on herself and swallowed hard, without meeting his gaze.

 _Why did he always have to look at her like that?_

A terrible shriek rang out; it hurt her ears awfully. Hermione pressed her hands on them with gritted teeth.

' _Expecto Patronum_.'

The incantation mingled among the deafening noise in her head; slowly, very slowly, and finally once and for all, the pain disappeared. She opened her eyes, without knowing that she had closed them; the yellow lights were gone and the night glittered innocently. The silver stag dissolved next to the young man and took all the warmth away.

' _What_ -what was _that_?' she whispered, still shocked and with her heart pounding.

He had already reached the heavy entrance doors of the headquarters of the Death Eaters and looked over his shoulder. 'Irrelevant, these creatures won't harass you again.'

Hermione kept up with him and approached him, shaken.

He wasted no time and headed for the left corridor, ignoring the middle and the right ones.

'I know these creatures. I... I have read about them,' Hermione said in a low voice. 'They are after my kind, aren't they?'

'Your kind?' he repeated in a calm voice. The steps of his boots echoed in the endless corridor.

'Muggle-borns.'

He did not answer. Of course not; he knew it as well as she did.

They went past a large door, behind which Hermione could hear voices; laughing, happy voices.

 _Would she ever be happy again?_

Hermione began to count the doors they passed; _9, 10, 11_ – _21, 22_ –

And finally they stopped in front of the 23th door of the left corridor.

He made a waving movement with his wand, opening the door and revealing the room behind it.

Hermione gasped incredibly. It was pure luxury; a giant bed with soft pillows and blankets, a huge cupboard which was certainly filled with expensive robes and dresses, a large shelf with hundreds of books, a golden chandelier and a big mirror.

She forced her brown eyes off of the luxurious room, not believing what she was looking at. _Honestly, why did these damned Death Eaters care so much about things like that?_

'This is your room, Hermione,' he said.

Hermione looked up at him, not daring to comprehend his words. A single word left her dry lips, 'Why?'

He frowned. 'Aren't you satisfied with it?'

'Where is Ron's room?' she asked, ignoring his ridiculous question.

A smirk crosses his face. ' _Weasley_ certainly won't have a _room_ , my dear. He shall stay in our dungeons until I decide to kill him. Just like the other prisoners.'

'If I'm not a prisoner, then what am I, exactly?' she snapped furiously.

He smiled. 'My guest. Enjoy your room,' he whispered calmly, turning around.

'No, _wait_!' she shouted after him.

He ceased in his movements, without facing her again. His wand was still directed on the unconscious body of Ron Weasley.

'I don't want this room to be mine. I don't want to stay and sleep and certainly not live there,' Hermione said loudly. 'If Ron is kept in your dungeons, I am, too.'

'That's surely not for you to decide, Hermione.'

' _DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME_!'

He froze, looking back at the girl he knew since age eleven. Her cheeks were flushed, almost glowing.

 _He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes._

 _'Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one,' she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth._

 _'We've already told him we haven't seen it,' said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand._

 _'Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then.'_

 _She sat down. Ron looked taken aback._

 _'Er_ — _all right.'_

 _He cleared his throat._

 _'Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.'_

 _He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep._

 _'Are you sure that's a real spell?' said the girl. 'Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard_ — _I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough_ — _I_ _'m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?'_

 _She said all this very fast._

 _Harry looked at Ron, and was relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either._

 _'I'm Ron Weasley,' Ron muttered._

 _'Harry Potter,' said Harry._

 _'Are you really?' said Hermione. 'I know all about you, of course_ — _I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.'_

 _'Am I?' said Harry, feeling dazed._

 _'Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me,' said Hermione. 'Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon.'_

 _And she left, taking the toadless boy with her._

 _'Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it,' said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. 'Stupid spell_ — _George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud.'_

As he walked back to her— _close_ , closer than he had ever been before—the flying body fell to the ground, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything.

His face was white with wrath. 'You shall _never_ talk like _that_ to me again, my sweet Hermione. _I_ am making the decisions, not you. After all, _you_ are _my_ priso–'

'So, _I am_ a prisoner, aren't I?' she shouted back at him.

'Do you want to be one?' he asked.

She pressed her lips firmly together, not daring herself to look away from his bright green eyes that were shining dangerously. They both just stared at each other, without saying another word.

Somewhere a door opened loudly and people dressed in black robes started to fill the corridor.

'What's going on here?' a male, high voice said. A handsome man left the others behind, walking towards Harry and Hermione.

Suddenly, Harry stepped in front of Hermione, covering her with his back.

'What's going on, Potter?' the man asked, now that he knew whom he was talking to, somewhat calmer and quieter.

'It's nothing and by the way none of your business, Avery,' answered Harry with a cold expression.

Avery's eyes were fixed on Hermione's bushy brown hair behind the young man standing before him. ' _Ah_ ,' he whispered. 'So that's _the girl_ , my lord?'

Harry didn't bother to answer him.

Disappointment stretched itself over Avery's smiling face, even though he was hiding it well. 'Interesting. Very interesting.'

'You shall leave now,' Harry said loudly. 'Voldemort has given you orders, hasn't he? You were better to follow them, Avery. And the others as well. You shall not disappoint him.'

The Death Eaters slowly deserted, not without throwing interested glances at the girl hiding behind Harry.

'You shall leave, too,' he said.

Hermione looked past Harry's messy black hair to see whom he was talking to.

It had been about one year since she had last seen her twisted and pale face. Bellatrix Lestrange's big, black eyes were directed at her. Involuntarily, she shuddered due to the pure hatred that stared back at her, cold as ever.

'That... _that_... you are denying _me_ for _that thing_?' whispered Bellatrix roughly.

'Bella!' he said loudly, his voice slowly filling itself with fury. 'Leave! As you know, only the inner circle Death Eaters can leave and enter our headquarters. You shall help the others, do you understand me?'

'I don't take orders from _you_! The Dark Lord is the only one I listen to!'

A smile appeared on Harry's lips. 'Well, I shall inform him on your behaviour. You are the reason some of our friends aren't able to fulfil their duties. He is already disappointed with you, do you honestly want to sink lower in his eyes, Bella?'

Something slithered into Bella's huge eyes.

Was it fear?

'I am not doing this because of you, _Potter_ ,' she hissed before following the waiting Death Eaters in front of the iron gate.

Hermione seemed to be frozen to the black floor.

What did she mean by _'denying me for that thing'_?

 _What do you think she means?_

He still continued to stare at the spot Bellatrix Lestrange had been standing on. His pale, long fingers moved around his wand. Hermione couldn't hear him breathing.

 _Was he breathing?_

'I don't have any more time to waste due your stubbornness,' his voice said coldly. 'There is business I have to attend to, after all.'

'Let me guess, torturing innocent muggles and muggle-borns? Killing those who are brave enough to fight you? What is that _business_ exactly, _Harry_?'

He turned back to her, a small grin on his notorious face. His lightning scar stood out behind black strands of hair—the work of Voldemort himself; the man, the creature, that had shaped the life of the man standing so close to her in the most horrific way possible. _Why_ was he fulfilling tasks for _that_ person? _How could he?_

' _Actually_ , I intend to finish my plans with that poor boy,' he uttered, smiling.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron's white and sleeping face. ' _No_.'

'Has the brightest witch of her age any methods to recommend? Any ideas how I could form that little issue in the most enjoyable way, my love?'

'No, _no_ , please, Harry!' she replied with a pleading voice, trying desperately to ignore her racing heart. 'You don't have to do this. Why would it change anything? He's never done something that could justify you murdering him!'

He raised an eyebrow while lifting Ron in the air again. 'Why do you care about him? All he's ever done was making jokes about you and your ideas, spitting out insults when you were only a young girl, taking your kindness and helpfulness for granted. Tell me, my dear, don't you think you are better off without him by your side?'

She swallowed.

'You... you can't just keep yourself focused on his negative sides. We've _all_ got them, don't we? Please, Harry, he's been your first and best friend. Please, don't kill him. He doesn't deserve this.'

'No,' he muttered. 'No, he's never been my friend. Merlin, how does it come that the smartest girl I know can't see that boy for what he truly is?'

 _'He's_ not a Death Eater! _He_ hasn't killed any of his friends and allies!' she responded silently. 'Please, Harry. Please. For me,' she added, close to tears.

Something in his green eyes changed; they didn't turn into a warmer and softer tone, instead they became colder and harder. 'For you?' he repeated, his smirk vanished. 'For you? Do you believe I'd do anything for you, my sweet Hermione?'

'N—No,' Hermione said, taking a step backwards, colliding with the door that belonged to the luxurious room he wanted her to live in. _'I_ will do anything in exchange for his life.'

Harry's tiny smirk wandered back to his lips. He leaned closer to her, his fingertips travelled up her arm. His mouth brushed briefly against her ear. She trembled due to his warm breath. ' _Anything_?'

Hermione pressed her dry lips firmly together, slowly closing her eyes.

She wasn't ready for... _that_.

 _But did she have a choice?_

Ron's life was on her mercy.

'My, my, Hermione,' he whispered into her ear, causing her to freeze. 'You've always been quite _passionate_ , deep down, haven't you? I was constantly aware of your qualities, don't think I haven't noticed them, dear. Intelligence, bravery, loyalty... But that's not _everything_ you have to offer, right? I have always found you beautiful, while others seemed to differ from my opinion on that topic. I wonder... whom would you allow to _see_ that beauty?'

One of his hands placed itself on her neck, pulling her pale face closer to his.

A few centimetres—only inches away—

 _Darkness._

* * *

 _The terribly warm sun was shining down on the castle and its grounds, inviting exhausted students that were finished with their exams to relax outside._

 _A boy with untidy, raven-coloured hair, glasses and glowing green eyes watched a Golden Snitch flying around him with a satisfied expression on his face._

 _Another boy growled in his sleep, leaning against a thick, old tree next to the lake. His shining red hair was the only thing that was visible of him._

 _The only girl between the three teenagers was reading a huge book on her crossed legs, but her eyes flickered several times to the first boy. A soft smile crept on her face. Her bushy brown hair hid her red cheeks perfectly, and yet the black-haired boy met her gaze._

 _He grinned at her. 'I killed Ron, Hermione.'_

 _Hermione's eyes widened; her hands reached out for the sleeping redhead but it wasn't him anymore, only Crookshanks._

 _'Where is he? Where is Ron?'_

 _'He's dead, he's dead. I killed him, Hermione. I killed him.'_

 _'No!'_

 _'I killed him!'_

 _'NO!'_

She screamed, finally waken up.

It was a dream, only a dream.

 _But was it?_

Hermione looked worriedly around. Everything was dark, a horrible darkness.

Where was Ron?

Where was Harry?

Immediately, she sat up, realizing she had been lying on a bed. She was covered by a warm blanket, but she pushed it away from herself and stood up.

'Ron?' she whispered softly.

'Hermione?'

A stone fell from her heart. He was safe, he was alive.

 _Thank god._

'Where are you, Ron? Where are we?'

'I-I don't know. I just woke up,' Ron replied silently. His voice was rough.

If there was only some _light_ —

And there, she hadn't even finished her thought, burning candlesticks appeared out of nowhere and filled the dark room with warm light.

Hermione recognised enough to understand that she was standing in a cell, probably in the dungeons, like Harry had said.

There was a bed in it, a table with a stool, a wardrobe and a washbasin.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light. She couldn't see Ron, only hear his voice.

'Hermione?' he said. 'Are you still there?'

'Y-Yes. Why can't I only hear you?'

'I have no idea. Maybe that's some sort of sick mind game,' he responded with a hateful tone.

'Maybe,' she whispered.

' _Actually_ ,' a weak, familiar voice spoke. 'These are only separated cells. We are next to each other.'

She _knew_ that voice. _Of course_ she knew it, she was used to listen to it for years already.

'Professor Snape? Is that _you_?' she said shocked.

Snape seemed to struggle to answer her; whether he didn't want to or just couldn't. 'Yes, Miss Granger. And Mr Weasley, too? What a _fascinating_ company.'

'Where are we?' Ron asked.

'In the dungeons of the Death Eaters' headquarters. I am surprised the two of you are still alive,' Snape said with a sneer.

'I could say the same to you, _Professor_ ,' said Ron with an angry sigh.

'Potter let you live, then?'

'So far _,_ ' said a third, darker voice.

 _Harry._

An iron door closed behind him, as he stepped closer to the three cells. His eyes were fixed on the second one, meeting Hermione's gaze. 'Are you satisfied now, Hermione? A cell for you, instead of a comfortable room. But you've always had quite a _strange_ taste, haven't you?'

His green eyes flickered for a second to the third cell, from which Ron's voice had come.

Oh, if he would have known just _what_ a strange taste she had. But certainly she could not tell him about _that_. _Ever_.

What kind of person were these _feelings_ making her?

 _A traitor?_

Snape had fallen silent.

Hermione wondered why he was still alive—wasn't _he_ the one that had bullied Harry during all of his school years?

'What do you want, eh?' hissed Ron's voice. 'Are you here to finally kill me, is that it? Why haven't you done it before, Harry? Or is this my, _our_ , fate—rotting in your damned dungeons?'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'God, can't you just shut up with your nonsense?'

'No, I'm afraid I _can't_!' Ron said. 'Tell me, Harry—did you come to kill me, _your best friend_?'

'Firstly, you are certainly not my... _er_... best friend,' he replied coldly. 'Secondly, you only talk when spoken to, understood? And thirdly, no, I did not come down here to kill you. Your little friend has seen to _that_ , Weasley.'

Harry smiled.

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?'

'Well, Hermione has offered an quite interesting deal to me. You could call it a deal with the devil, if you like.'

Hermione could hear Ron suck in his breath. 'What kind of a deal?'

Harry turned his emerald eyes back to her, daring her to say something. 'Do _you_ want to answer this question, Darling?'

Hermione bit down on her upper lip, covering herself with her bare arms.

'Hermione?' Ron's voice. 'What's going _on_?'

'It seems she's a little bit reluctant to tell you about it, I think, Weasley,' he said slowly. 'Well, let me have the honour. Our dear friend asked for your life, in exchange for... well, _everything_.'

Silence.

Terrible, _terrible_ silence.

Hermione closed her eyes, ignoring the tears that streamed down her flushed cheeks.

'What does that mean? _Everything_?' Ron finally whispered.

' _God_ , Weasley, am I supposed to teach you simple vocabulary? It's not _that_ difficult to understand, is it?'

'No,' whispered Ron with a cutting silence. ' _No_.'

'Mhh,' muttered Harry, clearly enjoying the mental torture Ron was going through.

He stepped in front of her cell, waving his wand at the door. It swung open, allowing him to enter and her to leave. 'Come along, Hermione.'

' _NO_!' shouted Ron. Hermione heard him shake the door to his cell. 'Don't you _touch_ her! Don't you _dare_ —'

'Silence, Weasley,' said Harry. 'I am not in the mood for your pathetic attempts to impress the girl.'

'I am _not_ trying to impress her!' Ron yelled furiously. 'I am trying to _protect_ her from your _dirty_ fingers! That's what _friends_ do, not that I expect _you_ to understand that!'

'Yes, because she's _only_ a friend to you, right?' Harry replied coolly. 'We shall leave now, Hermione. You shouldn't make it any more complicated.'

' _Complicated_?' Ron repeated. 'DON'T YOU LAY YOUR FINGERS ON HER!'

Harry sighed, before waving his wand, stopping Ron's screams. He stepped aside, allowing Hermione to go pass him.

She couldn't look back at Ron, as he tried to break his cell's door by slamming himself against it.

'Are you excited, Hermione? This is your first... er... _job_ in making sure young Ronald stays alive.'

Hermione swallowed.

* * *

 _But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it._

 _Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water..._

 _But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak._

 _And then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings._

 _An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was inside his very heart..._

 _Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged downward, the roaring growing louder..._

 _And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his arms, but couldn't... a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him_ — _Was it Hermione?_ — _He had to safe her! No, not her, not Hermione! No_ —

 _'Harry! Harry! Are you all right?'_

 _Someone was slapping his face._

 _'W_ — _what?'_

 _Harry opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking_ — _the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face._

 _His eyes moved back to Hermione's terrified, pale face. She had tears in her eyes as she looked back at him; but it did not matter. After all, she was all right._


	6. Secret Missions

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

 **A/N:** Pretend that Harry didn't tell Ron or Hermione what Dumbledore's lessons with him in their sixth year were about while reading for simplicity's sake.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Secret Missions**

He _racked his brains. A really, really happy memory... one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus..._

 _The moment when he'd first found out he was a wizard, that he would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts and that he was finally able to make his relatives pay for what they did to him! If that wasn't a happy memory, he didn't know what was... Concentrating very hard on how he would feel when he would be leaving Privet Drive for good and finally kill them all, Harry got to his feet and faced the packing case once more._

 _'Ready?' said Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. 'Concentrating hard? All right - go!'_

 _He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it; the room fell cold and dark._

 _'EXPECTO PATRONUM!' Harry bellowed. 'EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!'_

 _The screaming inside Harry's head had started again_ — _except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio_ — _softer and louder and softer again_ — _and he could still see the dementor_ — _it had halted_ — _and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry's wand, to hover between him and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, he was still on his feet_ — _though for how much longer, he wasn't sure_ —

 _'Riddikulus!' roared Lupin, springing forward._

 _There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb again._

 _'Excellent!' Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. 'Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!'_

 _'Can we have another go? Just one more go?'_

 _'Not now,' said Lupin firmly. 'You've had enough for one night. Here-'_

 _He handed Harry a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate._

 _'Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?'_

 _'Okay,' said Harry. He took a bite of the chocolate and watched Lupin extinguishing the lamps that had rekindled with the disappearance of the dementor. A thought had just occurred to him._

 _'Professor Lupin?' he said. 'If you knew my dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well.'_

 _Lupin turned very quickly._

 _'What gives you that idea?' he said sharply._

 _'Nothing_ — _I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too...'_

 _Lupin's face relaxed._

 _'Yes, I knew him,' he said shortly. 'Or I thought I did. You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late.'_

 _Harry left the classroom, walking along the corridor and around a corner, then took a detour behind a suit of armor and sank down on its plinth to finish his chocolate, wishing he hadn't mentioned Black, as Lupin was obviously not keen on the subject. Then Harry's thoughts wandered back to his mother and father..._

* * *

He closed the large door to his chambers silently, his back turned to the trembling young woman standing awkwardly behind him.

She could hear him whisper a sound-proofing charm, impertubening the door and thus taking every chance away to be heard.

Hermione did not dare to meet his green eyes, being totally aware that he was watching her closely. Instead, she closed her arms around her chest, and stared down at the dark floor.

'You are acting very rude, you know,' he said calmly.

She pressed her lips together. His voice had changed... it sounded so much different from his mocking voice down in the dungeons. Darker. Rougher.

He took a step nearer her, his hands in the pockets of his pitch black cloak. 'If you want me to spare that pathetic boy, you'll have to be more _convincing_.'

Ignoring the need to swallow, she raised her head, eventually meeting his cold eyes.

'What do you want from me?' she asked, her brown eyes hard.

He smirked. 'Ah, that's my girl.'

'What,' she hissed, 'What do you want from me, exactly? Stop wasting time, that's what you told me yesterday. No it's _your_ turn.'

His grin widened while he unbuttoned his cloak, without taking it off. He walked over to the giant bed that was even bigger than the one in the luxurious room she was presented to the day before. 'It's an quite difficult issue, I'm afraid.'

Harry pointed to his monstrous, dark bed. 'Sit down.'

'No, I'm fine.'

'That wasn't an offer, dear,' he replied curtly.

She sighed, too tired and too confused to deny his demand, and walked past him, sitting down.

It was incredibly warm.

'That's better, isn't it?' he said, smiling his evil grin.

She ignored him, even though he was more than just right. 'So, what do I have to do?'

He went over to his large wooden cupboard, pointing his wand at it and muttering something that she couldn't make out. Still, she was certain that he lifted certain charms which he used to keep his privacy. Or secrets hidden.

Eventually, he opened the doors of the cupboard but she wasn't able to see a thing behind his broad shoulders.

'Maybe you want me to do your homework? For old times' sake?' she said sarcastically, almost wishing he wasn't listening to her.

She was not able to throw a glance at his face and yet she was certain that he was smirking at her words.

'Unfortunately, this is much more difficult than essays for Transfiguration,' he responded calmly.

He seemed to have found what he was looking for; his hands had ceased in their movements.

Hermione sat up straight when he finally turned around to face her again.

His pale fingers were holding a locket of gold and green stone. She stared at it confusedly.

'What's that?' she asked.

'Well, _this_ here is a fake locket, even though it is quite well made,' he answered. Something dark glowed in his usual bright green eyes while looking down at the locket in his hands.

Hermione frowned. 'Where's the real one, then?'

'Ah, yes, that is the... er, _funny_ part.'

She raised her eyebrows. She would have never thought of him using the word _'funny'_ ever again.

'Funny?'

'Yes,' he said, smiling. 'It happens that the real one is currently in the possession of an old acquaintance. You may recall the name Dolores Umbridge.'

 _Dolores Umbridge._

 _God_ , of course she remembered the name of that cruel woman who had made her and her friends's life at Hogwarts two years ago so much worse.

Hermione's eyes flickered for a second to Harry's left hand.

 _I must not tell lies._

Ironic. After all, he had played the most impressive charade.

'I would say you _do_ recall her,' he said silently.

'How do you know that _she_ has it now?' she asked.

'Well, my partnership with Voldemort seems to allow impeccable sources.'

Hermione stood up. She was too curious to sit still and watch him.

Harry handed her the fake locket before waving his wand; a table filled with chicken wings, roasted potatoes, salad, and wine appeared out of nowhere.

Only now did she notice how hungry she was.

'I'm inviting you to have dinner with me, Hermione,' he said coolly.

She met his sharp gaze while her trembling fingers opened the locket unconsciously.

An old parchment piece fell to the floor.

She kneeled down do pick it up, her eyes still on his hard face. His gaze wandered to the note in Hermione's hands while she read it with furrowed brows.

 _To the Dark Lord,_

 _I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more._

 _R.A.B_

'R.A.B.,' she whispered silently. 'Who is that?'

' _Accio Parchment_.'

The note slipped from her fingers and wandered into his hands.

'What was that?' Hermione asked. 'What are horcruxes? Who is R.A.B.?'

'Calm down, Darling, you are over-exciting yourself,' replied Harry, roughly tugging the note from R.A.B. in his cloak's pocket.

Hermione stared at him, her brain working quickly. 'What does this R.A.B. person mean by ' _you will be mortal once more'_? Voldemort is _immortal_?'

He sat down, filling two cups with scarlet elfe-wine. 'Aren't you hungry? Come and eat.'

'Not until you tell me what that note is all about and why I'm actually here, Harry!'

'Oh, for god's sake, sit down and eat or I will make sure young Ronald suffers for your terrible stubbornness.'

She pressed her lips firmly together. He would always get her to do anything in exchange for Ron's safety. That was why she was standing in his chambers, after all.

'Good,' he said after she joined him at the table. His hand waved over the good-smelling food. 'Eat.'

'I'm not hungry.'

Just then did her stomach make a loud grumbling noise. She cursed under her breath, slowly reaching out for the potatoes.

He didn't eat.

He just watched her, his fingers crossed and leaning back in his chair.

'So, that's my first job in making sure our deal is secure? _Eat_?' she said after a last bite.

'Hmm,' he muttered. 'We want you to be healthy, don't we?'

'I want some answers,' Hermione whispered carefully, choosing to ignore his last statement.

He didn't say anything.

'Er... Why is Snape a prisoner?'

'Oh, Hermione, you already know that he was working as a spy for Dumbledore. Why are you asking a question you know the answer to?'

'But...'

'I am a Death Eater,' he said with a grin. 'I informed Voldemort of his false loyalty. After all, we do not need any traitors, right?'

 _Traitors!_

 _He was one to talk!_

She bit down on her tongue, forcing herself not to spit those words into his smiling face.

'Ah, Hermione, you should know that Voldemort has taught me successfully not only in Occlumency but also in Legilimency. Ignoring your... little _insult_ , I can read another question in your mind as well. You wonder why Voldemort didn't kill him? Or why _I_ didn't kill him? After all, Snape betrayed him and brought a whole lot of misery into my years in Hogwarts, didn't he?'

Hermione swallowed. She wasn't certain if she wanted to know the answer to that question.

A joyless smile stretched itself over his pale face. 'Our old potionsmaster gave me all the information and memories I desired to obtain. It happens that the little spider used to be madly in love with _my_ own mother. One could call it even more than love... obsession, probably.'

 _Obsession._

Why did that word cause a familiar shiver down her spine?

'And instead of treating the love of his life's son with affection and respect, he chose to only see James Potter in Lily Evans' boy. Tragic, don't you think?'

'That... that doesn't answer my question,' she said, still trying to comprehend the fact that Severus Snape was capable of feeling something like love.

'It doesn't?' he replied, his black eyebrows raised. 'This man would be more than just happy to be reunited with my mother in death. Were would be the punishment?'

She swallowed.

 _Snape and Harry's mother..._

Merlin, that was why he hated Harry that much.

'And... what about... Bellatrix Lestrange?' she whispered, an unpleasant feeling of hatred and jealousy bubbling up inside of her. 'How could you... how _can_ you sleep with the woman who killed your godfather and tortured Neville's parents into madness? Didn't you care about Sirius?'

His expression altered; the smile on his face vanished and instead of it he was now wearing a cold and hard look. 'Of course I cared about him, he was my godfather, after all, wasn't he? But I certainly don't care about Neville Longbottom or his parents. They do not concern me. They never have and they never will.'

'If you cared about Sirius, then how can you do this? _Why_ —'

'Hermione, I won't discuss my sexual relationships with you.'

She held her breath for a second, trying desperately not to expose any private emotions to his ability of reading her mind.

'Fine. It doesn't matter, either. You are still evil, it won't change a thing about that,' Hermione responded silently, more to herself than to him.

'Any more questions, my dear?'

'Yes! _What_ am I supposed to _do_ now, exactly? Teasing Snape because of his undying love for your mother when you return me to the dungeons?'

'Ah, you can do with that information what you want to,' he said, laughing. She shivered. 'No, what certainly is more in my interest includes you joining me on my hunt for specific objects.'

'Horcruxes?'

He rolled his eyes. 'I will pick you up, after the feast tonight.'

'You want me to come with you? Why?' she asked, frowning. 'And what feast?'

'Oh, my fellow partners are throwing a little party for me,' he said, obviously not looking forward to it.

'Well, have a lot of fun, dancing with Voldemort,' she snorted sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest.

He grinned. 'I haven't mentioned it? You are coming, too. Just like Weasley.'

Hermione exhaled sharply, not daring to comprehend his words.

 _What the hell did those Death Eaters need Ron and her on a party for?_

'It wasn't my idea, you have to thank Bella. We need servants, you know.'

* * *

He was ignoring her.

Not that she had anything against it, but still... he was ignoring her.

The last time he had looked her into the eye was when he had brought her back to her cell, leaving her alone with a horrible awkwardness between Ron and herself.

He hadn't said a single word, Ron. At first. She had been almost capable of seeing him open his mouth repeatedly without allowing a letter to leave his lips.

After a few hours, in which she had stared at the ceiling without taking her eyes off it, Ron had finally found his voice again.

Ron had asked her if she was alright and if _he_ had done something bad to her.

She had denied it. Harry had told her to be silent when it comes to his plans with her, so she had claimed that Harry made her clean the salon.

She didn't know if he believed her or not.

Hermione let her brown eyes travel through the big salon which she had supposedly cleaned and finally found the redheaded-boy.

He looked extremely furious and irritated, carrying around plates with small sandwiches and cakes and offering them to laughing Death Eaters.

But Harry had found a way to make sure he wouldn't act on his rising temperament; he had threatened to cause Hermione more trouble than just some cleaning jobs.

'Oh, _girl_ , why are you just standing there? Come on, I want more wine!'

Hermione jumped involuntarily.

 _Bellatrix Lestrange._

Hermione gritted her teeth. She slowly walked over to the beautiful and most faithful Death Eater, forcing herself not to tear the woman's throat out with her bare hands.

'So you _do_ have ears? You were better to actually take advantage of them, girl,' she said loudly, earning laughter from a few other Death Eaters, all dressed in black robes and cloaks.

'It's not as if you'd die of thirst, is it?' Hermione replied angrily, pouring blood-red wine into Bellatrix' cup.

The same Death Eaters that had laughed at the woman's comment were now laughing at Hermione's. All of them fell silent when Bellatrix glared at them with a murderous look.

'We are witty today, aren't we?' she said to Hermione. 'Is that a trait you've inherited from your _filthy_ Muggle parents, I wonder?'

Hermione's knuckles whitened around the jar of wine she was carrying as she grabbed it tighter. 'Don't you _dare_ mention my parents to me, you pathetic-'

'Do you really want to finish this sentence, eh, girl? I can make you suffer more than you can even _imagine_ ,' interrupted Bellatrix her sharply.

'Oi, Bella, aren't we supposed to leave the girl alone?' said a man with a twisted face and a dirty smile. 'You shouldn't harm Potter's little favourite slave on his own party, that's disgusting.'

'I tell you what _disgusting_ is, Nott!' she cried furiously. 'Sleeping with a damned mudblo-'

'Why are you disturbing everyone with your wild shouting, Bella? We want to enjoy this little feast, after all.'

Harry.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief; honestly, she didn't need him to play knight in shining armour, coming to her rescue. He should just continue to ignore her, just like he had been the past hours.

She watched him and Bellatrix exchanging cold-hearted glances, both faces filled with hard dislike.

'Go back to enjoying the food and the music,' he said eventually. 'That's what parties are for, right?'

Bellatrix snorted before she threw her black, thick hair back and walked over to the other side of the salon, now talking to someone Hermione hadn't expected to see at all.

 _Draco Malfoy._

Ron must have noticed him as well; his blue eyes were wide with disgust and hatred.

And still, Hermione couldn't help but think that he hated Harry more than he ever hated Draco.

He had always been quite pale, especially with his light blond hair; but tonight, he was even paler, almost having a sick grey colour in his young face.

'Did you expect him to appear?' a voice said.

Hermione looked around; her freckled friend was already standing next to her, eyeing Draco in disbelief.

She shook her frizzy hair. 'No. He looks ill, doesn't he?'

Ron shrugged. 'Yeah, but I can't say that I care about that. Damned frightened ferret, he is.'

Hermione pressed her lips together.

Draco didn't seem to be at the Death Eater's party voluntary; his usual cold grey eyes were almost upsetting Hermione. He looked around nervously, as if he was trying to cheat on a school test.

All thoughts of Draco Malfoy and his obvious unpleasant feelings were wiped away when a tall, thin creature entered the salon.

Hermione inhaled shocked; of course, Harry had told her what _he_ looks like and what it's like to be face-to-face with the darkest wizard that ever existed, and yet no stories were comparable to actually seeing him in his dark figure.

Voldemort had spider-like long fingers, glowing red and snake-like eyes and a lipless smile on his pale, inhuman face.

Hermione's eyes were almost hurting; but somehow she couldn't take them off his elegant and slow movements.

Voldemort's cold eyes were wandering around the full, light room; Hermione noticed that even some of the Death Eaters shuddered under the red, almost burning gaze of their master.

The only two persons that didn't seem to be bothered by the sudden presence of Voldemort were Bellatrix, who watched him with so much affection that Hermione wanted to vomit, and Harry, whose green eyes didn't even alter. He just looked at him for a moment, before turning around and meeting Hermione's eyes for not even a second.

'Evening, my dear friends,' said Voldemort loudly and clearly. 'Keep enjoying yourselves and celebrate the greatest addition to our ranks.'

His followers did as he instructed them to, stop staring at their master and start talking to each other again.

Hermione swallowed hard, still focusing on Voldemort and his every movements; he walked over to Harry who didn't make the impression of being in the mood for a little chat with the darkest wizard ever.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron's extremely confused and frightened expression. 'He's... He's...'

'Immensely terrifying?' he offered with a whisper.

She nodded. 'Do you think Harry is also afraid of him?'

'No, I don't think so,' replied Ron carefully. 'He looks rather bored than afraid, doesn't he? And he wouldn't have joined him if he were afraid of him.'

'Right,' said Hermione. 'He probably just wants-'

' _Hermione Granger_.'

A cold shudder traveled up and down her back, almost freezing her to the floor, leaving her completely terrified.

Voldemort had come towards her without her noticing it. He was smiling, his hands folded.

'The moment has finally arrived that I meet the woman who enjoys Harry Potter's personal protection.'

Hermione bit down on her lip, not knowing if she should say something.

'How are you feeling in our headquarters? I hope you are treated well, Hermione,' he said coldly.

She almost wished he would call her _Mudblood_ , just not by her name. It felt... _wrong_. Too intimate. Too close.

'I would feel better if you were dead,' Hermione said before she knew what she saying.

Ron looked at her in utter shock as if he was fearing for her life; she could see Bellatrix's white face and her open mouth.

Hermione had also noticed Harry coming nearer, but Voldemort was smirking at her words, not nearly hurt or angered by her statement.

'Yes, I can see why Harry likes you. Brave, aren't you, Hermione Granger? Some would call it stupidity, but I'm aware of your incredible cleverness,' Voldemort whispered softly.

'Voldemort,' said Harry suddenly, interrupting his new master and the young woman. He had finally reached them, now looking directly into Voldemort's red eyes without trembling. Hermione couldn't help but feel respect for him.

'I will attend to some unfinished business now,' he said calmly. 'The girl will accompany me.'

'What about that boy?' Voldemort said, his gaze wandering over to Ron who seemed to struggle with himself.

'Weasley?' said Harry, his eyebrows raised. 'Surely not. I don't want to see the boy unless I absolutely _have to_. Unlike him, she has at least intelligence and doesn't irritate me so easily.'

'Yes, I understand that, my boy,' Voldemort responded coolly. 'Enjoy your time with her.'

'I certainly will.'

* * *

 _Harry had never been part of a stranger group. Crookshanks led the way down the stairs; Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron went next, looking like entrants in a six-legged race. Next came Professor Snape, drifting creepily along, his toes hitting each stair as they descended, held up by his own wand, which was being pointed at him by Sirius. Harry and Hermione brought up the rear._

 _Getting back into the tunnel was difficult. Lupin, Pettigrew, and Ron had to turn sideways to manage it; Lupin still had Pettigrew covered with his wand. Harry could see them edging awkwardly along the tunnel in single file. Crookshanks was still in the lead. Harry went right after Black, who was still making Snape drift along ahead of them; he kept bumping his lolling head on the low ceiling. Harry had the impression Black was making no effort to prevent this._

 _'You know what this means?' Black said abruptly to Harry as they made their slow progress along the tunnel. 'Turning Pettigrew in?'_

 _'You' re free,' said Harry._

 _'Yes...,' said Black. 'But I'm also - I don't know if anyone ever told you - I'm your godfather.'_

 _'Yeah, I knew that,' said Harry._

 _'Well... your parents appointed me your guardian,' said Black stiffly. 'If anything happened to them...'_

 _Harry waited. Did Black mean what he thought he meant?_

 _'I'll understand, of course, if you want to stay with your aunt and uncle,' said Black. 'But... well... think about it. Once my name's cleared... if you wanted a... a different home...'_

 _Some sort of explosion took place in the pit of Harry's stomach._

 _'What - live with you?' he said, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. 'Leave the Dursleys?'_

 _'Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to,'" said Black quickly. 'I understand, I just thought I'd-'_

 _'Are you insane?' said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Black's. 'Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?'_

 _Black turned right around to look at him; Snape's head was scraping the ceiling but Black didn't seem to care._

 _'You want to?' he said. 'You mean it?'_

 _'Yeah, I mean it!' said Harry._

 _Black's gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. The difference it made was startling, as though a person ten years younger were shining through the starved mask; for a moment, he was recognizable as the man who had laughed at Harry's parents' wedding._

 _Maybe._

 _Maybe he wouldn't have to take revenge on all of them._

 _Maybe._

 _Sirius Black had been the best friend to his father, he was his godfather; he had endured Azkaban even though he was an innocent man._

 _He had tried to take care of Harry..._

 _But that old fool Dumbledore had sent the giant-breed in order to take the little child to an unloving, abusive Muggle family._

 _Dumbledore..._

 _He was behind everything, playing with all of them chess, hiding behind his mask of the compassionate headmaster._

 _What would his life have been like if Sirius had taken Harry with him?_

 _He would have probably grown up to be loved and protected by a person he looked up to._

 _Perhaps, now with Black at his side... maybe..._


	7. Flying Past

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Flying Past**

 _The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by – no._

 _That couldn't be possible._

 _Parvati Patil, standing next to him and clasping his arm, screeched. 'Harry! Stop it, you are hurting me!'_

 _Harry removed his fingers that were digging into Parvati's skin without taking his watching eyes off Krum's partner._

 _She met his gaze as if she had felt it burning into her neck and looked at him with a mixture of remorse and defiance._

 _For the rest of the night he was oblivious to the area of lawn right in front of the castle that had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights – meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer. He ignored Parvati's attempts to get him into dancing with her and instead stared at Hermione's beautiful and joyful face._

* * *

Oh, how she despised waiting.

It was different, though. Still, she felt as anxious, nerve-wrecked and curious as she had felt before her exams in Hogwarts, especially during her fifth year with her O.W.L.s, and yet it wasn't comparable to the increasing feeling of nervousness that flooded her while walking around in Harry's chambers.

After taken her from the feast the other Death Eaters had set up specifically for him, followed by everyone's interested eyes, especially Ron's and Bellatrix's, he had brought her to his giant, luxurious room.

Harry had told her he would take necessarily preparations for their upcoming little journey, as he himself called it.

She didn't know why he hadn't just left her at the party while he was doing what he had to do. It didn't make any difference, either wandering around in his place or serving the terribly irritating people in the salon.

Perhaps, it wasn't in his interest to leave her with the savage Death Eaters, the easily infuriated Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort himself, or Ron.

Hermione didn't bother about it; it wasn't as if she was craving to be in Voldemort's company or anything. The only thing, or rather person, that was concerning her was no-one else than Ron Weasley.

Would he have to serve them until the end of Harry's party?

As Hermione knew the freckled redhead's temperament, she was certain that it would take Bellatrix and the others only a few insults and comments on Ron and herself to cause him to react in a very typical Ronald-Weasley-way.

Hermione hoped desperately that he would try to keep himself in check so that they wouldn't have any excuse to harm the boy.

Hermione ceased in her nervous movements, her curious brown eyes fixed on another of Harry's many cupboards. It wasn't the one he was keeping the fake locket in hidden, and yet she was weirdly aware that it wasn't filled with robes, cloaks and socks.

She bit down on her upper lip, looking around the room nervously.

Would he be back any second?

 _And even if, what did she care?_

It wasn't as if his privacy was kept safe very well. If he truly didn't want her or anyone else to go through to his personal things, he would have tried better. After all, he was a talented wizard.

Hermione stepped closer, on her tiptoes, and with a not very lady-like smile on her pale face.

She didn't even need a wand to open the drawers with Alohomora or other spells; it was like an invitation. And all she did, was accepting it, slowly placing her hand down to open the drawer with her hand.

She was right.

There were none black cloaks or robes or even socks in the first drawer; it was filled with parchments and book pages that all had to do with specific objects, especially some from the Four Founders.

There was a drawing of a small golden cup with a badger on its front, clearly being an heritage of Helga Hufflepuff, one of the Four Founders.

In Harry's small writing was also a word written next to it.

 _Bellatrix (?)_

Hermione pressed her dry lips together, ignoring an unpleasant feeling bubbling up inside of her. She didn't want to continue to search for something interesting in this drawer; it wasn't as if she was understanding the meaning of these objects.

She closed the drawer quickly and instead opened the next one. It was more difficult to open, but in the end she managed it and stared down at her own face.

It wasn't _only_ her face.

She was laughing, her extremely bushy brown hair jumping a little bit, and her brown eyes and cheeks glowing at the joy of spending time with her friends. She was young, too. Thirteen, she guessed; Wormtail, then Scabbers, was sitting on Ron's shoulder, right under the grinning boy's shining red hair.

Hermione swallowed, her eyes slowly wandering to the black-haired young boy standing in the middle of the three friends, his arm around the girl's shoulders.

Hermione remembered the day; she blushed, again, at the feeling of Harry's warm hand on her shoulder, his face closely next to hers, his smell causing kicks in her stomach. Then, she hadn't realised the meaning of his effect on her; she had been young, after all. Books and grades had been constantly on her mind, rather than typically girl-things like boys and clothes. But now...

Why was he keeping this old photograph?

Why didn't he throw it away, as if it belonged in the trash, just like the fake love for his friends and allies?

Hermione couldn't handle the three young children laughing into the camera, putting the photograph back.

Her attention turned to something else.

* * *

 _A whole crowd of merpeople was floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a mer-version of a village square. A choir of merpeople was singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson._

 _Ron was tied between Hermione and Cho Chang. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made Harry feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour's sister. All four of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths._

 _Harry sped toward the hostages, half expecting the merpeople to lower their spears and charge at him, but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy, and very strong. For a fleeting second he thought of the knife Sirius had bought him for Christmas - locked in his trunk in the castle a quarter of a mile away, no use to him whatsoever._

 _He looked around. Many of the merpeople surrounding them were carrying spears. He swam swiftly toward a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head._

 _'We do not help,' he said in a harsh, croaky voice._

 _'Come ON!' Harry said fiercely (but only bubbles issued from his mouth), and he tried to pull the spear away from the merman, but the merman yanked it back, still shaking his head and laughing._

 _Harry swirled around, staring about. Something sharp... anything..._

 _There were rocks littering the lake bottom. He dived and snatched up a particularly jagged one and returned to the statue. He began to hack at the ropes binding Hermione_ — _at once, several pairs of strong gray hands seized him. Half a dozen mermen were pulling him away from her, shaking their green-haired heads, and laughing._

 _'You take your own hostage,' one of them said to him._

 _'No way! I want her!' said Harry furiously_ — _but only two large bubbles came out._

 _'Your task is to retrieve your own friend... leave the others.'_

 _'I don't care about the others! I only want to save her, you fucking bastards!' Harry yelled, gesturing toward Hermione, an enormous silver bubble emerging soundlessly from his lips. He froze, realizing what he just said. He couldn't..._

 _They had to think that he cared about Ron._

 _They had to think that he cared about everyone._

 _They couldn't suspect anything..._

 _No..._

 _'I mean, I don't want any of them to die!'_

* * *

It was a piece of a parchment—a long parchment.

Hermione took a careful closer look and recognized Harry's cursive handwriting. Just like in the other drawer, he had written a name on the parchment; but it wasn't only a single name.

There were many of them and Hermione knew all of them.

 _Rubeus Hagrid_

 _Albus Dumbledore_ –done

 _Remus Lupin_ – done

 _Dolores Umbridge_

 _The Weasleys_ – done (Ronald left)

 _Severus Snape_ – done (?)

 _Neville Longbottom_

 _Vernon Dursley_ – done

 _Petunia Dursley_ – done

 _Dudley Dursley_ – done

 _Alastor Moody_ – done

 _Mundungus Fletcher_ – done

 _Hermione Granger_ (?)

A death list.

 _It was a death list_ , she thought.

He seriously had turned into an intelligent, organised and psychotic serial killer.

'I hope you realise that you wouldn't have found that if I had something against it,' an all-so-familiar said calmly, sounding from behind her.

Hermione stared down at the question mark next to her own name, not even surprised or terrified by his sudden appearance.

It was only about time, then.

What was she thinking? That he'd spare her and finish all of the lives she cared about? And even if, did she want to still be breathing when everyone else was dead—when there was no one left worth living for?

Surely that was his intention.

Being the only one left in her life.

He wanted to make her feel as if she depended on him, didn't he?

But how _could_ she _know_?

How was she supposed to know how a psychopath's mind worked?

Hermione sighed, her bushy brown hair falling into her tired and dark eyes. She felt an uncommon feeling of exhaustion, hollowness and defeat slowly eating her from inside until it reached her skin and began to turn it into dust, taking everything of herself away.

'You will kill me, eventually,' she said, putting the death list back to its former place. Her face was unusually pale when she turned around to face the man that would one day not only be her first love but also her life ending executioner.

He wasn't smirking like she half expected him to. His green eyes were indefinable; he could have looked at a complete stranger.

'Why did you let me see this?'

He put his hands into his cloak's pockets and cocked his head, studying her emotionless face. 'I'm capable of realising your thoughts, dear, and the word psychopath is what you are thinking of me right now. Every psychopath needs a psychiatrist. You are smart enough to one, smart enough to be mine. Tell me, Hermione, why did I let you see that?'

Her hands were loosely placed on her tighs, her eyes observing the young man in front of her.

Was he playing with her?

 _Of course_ he was.

Since the day they had met, he had done nothing else.

He loved to play games.

Why shouldn't she join him?

It was the only opportunity to feel connected to him, and, _god_ , she wanted to feel connected to him again, before he'd take her life away.

'You want me to realise what you are capable of,' she whispered.

Only then did she notice the flecks of scarlet blood on his hands, neck and shirt under his dark cloak. Her heart skipped a beat.

Something unknown flashed over his pale face, causing him to appear even more like a foreigner to her. The way he cocked his head and observed her curious eyes was new to her—his every movements gave him a twisted and dangerous touch.

He was no longer the sweet, innocent boy she had once fallen in love with.

Who would have thought?

Who would have thought that the Wizarding World's only hope would one day turn into its worst failure?

'Go ahead, then.'

'I beg your pardon?' he said.

Hermione gathered everything she had left of her Gryffindor courage and bravery and closed the remaining metres between the two former friends. For a second, she noticed a shadow crossing his green eyes.

'Kill me,' she uttered calmly. 'Go ahead and finish your job with me. What does it matter whether you kill me now, a week later or in three years? You'll do it, in the end. So, go ahead and spare us the wasted time I spend with waiting for my execution and you with playing with my mind.'

He smiled. She knew he would.

'Ah, love, as far as I am concerned, I have never accepted commands. You know that, don't you?'

'It's not a command. It's a challenge, a provocation. Will you accept _that_?'

Before she was aware of what was happening, his blood-stained hands were gripping onto her bare wrists. It was a tight grip, even starting to hurt.

'Enough,' he growled. 'My actions are my own, you will never be able to influence them. Stop embarassing yourself in acting like you could.'

She pressed her dry lips together, searching for something in his undefinable pair of eyes.

Once upon a time, she had been quite good at analyzing and understanding him.

'We are finished with this pointless discussion, Darling,' Harry muttered, withdrawing one of his bloodied hands while the other one stayed where it was.

'Whose blood are you touching me with?'

The grin she had wondered where it was hidden appeared at that question. Slowly, his face approached hers, his breath dancing on her cold nose. 'What do you think?'

Hermione felt herself stiffen. 'You said you wouldn't harm him—'

'Oh, no, no. No. I told you I won't _kill_ him. I never said anything about torturing or hurting him. Oh, why are you making such a face? Come on, Hermione, cheer up; you are allowed to accompany me with important business. Don't you feel honoured?'

'Why have you tortured Ron?'

'Well, he wasn't going to give me what I needed the easy way. So, I had to push him into it a little bit. But don't worry, your pathetic boyfriend is still alive,' he said with a joyful expression on his face, pulling something out of his pocket.

Hermione threw a glance down and recognised strands of Ron's shining red hair.

'Polyjuice Potion.'

'Exactly,' he sighed enjoyed. 'After all, we do not want your reputation to be harmed—in case you haven't heard of it, I'm a psychotic serial killer and an insane supporter of Vanilla Voldemort.'

'I do not care,' she answered irritated. 'You take them.'

He laughed, exposing white teeth. 'My reputation is beyond harmed.'

She shrugged. 'Well, I guess neither of us will be disguised, then.'

Harry considered her for a moment before smiling and putting Ron's hair strands back into his pocket. He offered her his arm and said, 'Shall we?'

* * *

 _Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders; his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh._

 _Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them._

 _'My Lord...' he choked, 'my Lord... you promised... you did promise...'_

 _'Hold out your arm,' said Voldemort lazily._

 _'Oh Master... thank you, Master...'_

 _He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again._

 _'The other arm, Wormtail.'_

 _'Master, please... please...'_

 _Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo – a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth – the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping._

 _'It is back,' he said softly, 'they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know...'_

 _He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm._

 _The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black._

 _A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard._

 _'How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?' he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. 'And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?'_

 _He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face._

 _'You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father,' he hissed softly. 'A Muggle and a fool... very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death...'_

 _Voldemort laughed again. Up and down he paced, looking all around him as he walked, and the snake continued to circle in the grass._

 _'You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was... He didn't like magic, my father... He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born. Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage... but I vowed to find him... I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name... Tom Riddle...'_

 _Still he paced, his red eyes darting from grave to grave._

 _'Listen to me, reliving family history...' he said quietly, 'why, I am growing quite sentimental... But look, Harry! My true family returns...'_

 _Voldemort seemed to froze for a second when he noticed Harry's joyful smirk._

 _One day, Harry would be part of that true family, too._

* * *

Rather reluctantly, Hermione held on onto Harry's dark cloak and his shoulder, as they apparated through darkness and colours, her eyes steadily closed.

Even after the tightness was over and they were – as she knew—in the Muggle world, she prefered to be confronted by blindness than by the world and life she will never enjoy, again.

He pulled her through empty streets, without saying a single word.

Soon, he stopped and she was certain they were standing in front of the telephone box that they and the others had used in order to get to the Ministry. At that time, they had taken advantage of Thestrals.

It was funny.

She had never liked flying—but now, she missed these creatures.

They were a reminder of the good old times; of Hogwarts, her second home, and of Harry's innocence, purity and goodness.

Hermione whispered goodbye to the blindness and welcomed the light.

Harry pushed her into the telephone box and after a few seconds came after her as well, closing the door behind him.

They were only two persons and yet it was tight—too tight for her, she realized, when she found herself being pressed against his chest, as he reached out to enter the code that was needed for them to walk into the building that was the Ministry of Magic.

Either he didn't care about the two of them being pressed closely together, or he hadn't noticed it; which she doubted with all her heart.

A woman's voice filled the booth, just like the last time. 'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, please state your name and the purpose of your visit.'

 _Sirius._

What would he say whether he saw his own godson at the side of Voldemort, carrying out duties as his right hand that included killing his friends left behind?

Harry cleared the throat. Was he reminded of Sirius, too, she wondered? 'Harry Potter, Hermione Granger—carrying out duties for the Dark Lord.'

'Thank you. We hope you enjoy your day at the Ministry of Magic,' the female voice echoed around the booth again.

Two small cards popped out of the coin return section; wordlessly, he picked them up, keeping his and giving Hermione hers. She flinched at the sense of his cold fingers.

The telephone booth began to move, down, down, and further down, going underground and leaving the Muggle streets behind.

Harry took out his wand, smiling down at Hermione with a mean grin. 'Just like old times, right?'

When he finished the last word, the telephone booth came to a halt and the door opened, embracing the two of them into the Wizarding World.

'Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,' he muttered into her ear. 'Are you ready to kill Dolores Umbridge, my dearest Hermione?'


	8. Tormentor And Victim

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Tormentor And Victim**

 _R-r-riddikulus!' Mrs. Weasley sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron's corpse. Crack. Ron's body turned into Bill's, spread-eagled on his back, his eyes wide open and empty. Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever._

 _'R-riddikulus!' she sobbed again. Crack._

 _Mr. Weasley's body replaced Bill's, his glasses askew, a trickle of blood running down his face._

 _'No!' Mrs. Weasley moaned. 'No! Riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!'_ Crack _._

 _Dead twins._ Crack _._

 _Dead Percy._ Crack _._

 _Dead Harry._

 _He couldn't help but feel... angry. How dare she? How dare she act as if she'd care for him?_

 _He forced himself to pretend to be the Harry they thought he was. 'Mrs. Weasley, just get out of here!' he shouted, staring down at his own dead body on the floor. 'Let someone else-'_

 _'What's going on?' Lupin had come running into the room, closely followed by Sirius, with Moody stumping along behind them._

 _Lupin looked from Mrs. Weasley to the dead Harry on the floor and seemed to understand in an instant. Pulling out his own wand, he said, very firmly and clearly: 'Riddikulus!'_

 _Harry's body vanished._

 _A silvery orb hung in the air over the spot where it had lain. Lupin waved his wand once more and the orb vanished in a puff of smoke._

 _'Oh, oh, oh!' gulped Mrs. Weasley, and she broke into a storm of crying, her face in her hands._

 _'Molly,' said Lupin bleakly, walking over to her. 'Molly, don't_ — _'_

 _Next second, she was sobbing her heart out on Lupin's shoulder. 'Molly, it was just a Boggart,' he said soothingly, patting her on the head, 'just a stupid Boggart_ — _'_

 _'I see them d_ — _d_ — _dead all the time!' Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. 'All the t_ — _t_ — _time! I'd dream about it_ — _'_

 _Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the Boggart, pretending to be Harry's body, had lain._

 _Harry growled. Sirius was the only one he'd believe to care about him. All of them_ — _the Weasleys, Lupin, even god-forsaking Dumbledore_ — _had been able to take him in when he was a child and abused. All of them only cared about him because he was the Boy Who Lived; but Sirius, he_ did _care about him in the most earnest way that Harry had ever experienced. He had been in prison, the best friend of his parents, his godfather_ — _Harry was certain that he would have tried to free him from the cruelty that were the Dursleys if he had had the chance._

 _Only Sirius._

 _Only Sirius and_ —

* * *

The two of them joined the stream of witches and wizards moving towards the golden gates at the end of the hall; Hermione looking around somewhat nervously, while Harry paid no visible attention whatsoever to their surroundings, his bright eyes concentrated and eyebrows contracted.

Together, they passed through the gates, with no sign of the small, toad-like figure of Dolores Jane Umbridge, and eventually entered a smaller hall. There, queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts.

Harry had already entered the nearest one, without making sure that she wouldn't attempt to escape in these crowds and queues.

After all, the both of them were well of the fact that Hermione would never leave Ron alone in the Death Eaters's dungeons; and even if there wasn't the problem with the red-headed boy, where would she go?

Hogwarts? No. The castle was infiltrated by the Dark Side as well, taking care of _filthy Mudbloods_ and followers of the Order of the Phoenix. _He_ would get her there only a few seconds after she'd enter her beloved school's grounds.

The Burrow? It existed no longer.

Her own home? Her parents were gone and her empty famile house probably watched the minute she'd have managed to escape her imprisonment.

She wasn't even certain whether she'd _succeed_ at fleeing.

' _Potter_!' a raw voice called out.

Hermione flinched unintentionally, facing a man with a brutish face that was somewhat at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread; he was walking right towards Harry, something like a smirk on his scowling face.

'For god's sake, cease with your nervous habits, you'll only cause us to look suspicious,' Harry muttered angrily, his green pair of eyes steadily on the man's.

Hermione growled irritated.

'Yaxley,' he said coolly.

'Potter!' said Yaxley with a mix of dislike and respect. 'I did not expect you to show up in the Ministry. What a _pleasant_ surprise.'

'Well, I might not be highly interested in politics but still, there are certain issues concerning this very topic that I can't obviate.'

Yaxley's gaze wandered over to Hermione's brown eyes. There was something... odd and very strange in the way he was staring down at her. Whatever it was, Hermione wasn't happy about it.

'Yes... I can see that much,' he replied silently, 'Your little _protegee_ , isn't it? It's... a pleasure to meet you, girl.'

Hermione frowned at him. 'I'm not sure whether I can say the same to you.'

'Ah,' Yaxley said, his voice now darker and a grin on his thin lips. 'Yes, Nott has already told me about your impeccable wit. Just use it wisely, my dear. We don't want to disappoint your mentor, do we? Enjoy your time at the ministry. Potter,' he added with a nod in Harry's direction before turning around on his heels and disappearing in the crowds.

The golden grille before them clattered open.

He put his hand around her wrist in a very tightly way, and pulled her with him into the lift. There was only the two of them in there but the other wizards and witches didn't make the impression of desiring to join Harry and Hermione and instead threw nervous, short and horrified glances at them. It was if they were infectious; toxic, dangerous. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upward.

Hermione tore herself free from his firm grip. 'You are not very popular, are you? They hardly dare to look at you, and that Yaxley guy, I don't believe he's as delighted about your presence as he said.'

Just as she expected him to, he grinned. 'It's better to be feared than to be loved.'

'No, it's not. Fear leads to false and forced loyalty, love brings you only the truest respect and admiration.'

He sighed, shaking his head with a smile. 'Ah, Hermione, we can fight over this topic as long as you want to, but there is no way you are going to convince me that it would be better to crawl into people's arse than to teach them who is playing the superior and who the inferior part in our little story.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing Harry long enough that he was way too stubborn to realise how wrong he was. He would notice it soon.

'Whatever. That Yaxley guy...'

'He's a Death Eater, he was present when I... when Dumbledore was killed,' he answered monotonously.

'So, you are friends?'

Harry looked down at her. 'I hope that was irony.'

'Sure it was. I know what you do with your friends. You kill them. He's still alive, so I guess you two aren't that close, are you?'

'I didn't kill _you_ , did I?' he retorted with raised dark eyebrows.

Hermione shrugged. 'Yet.'

'We'll see about that.'

'Yes, we will.'

' _Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being and Spirit Division, Goblin Liasion Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau_ ,' the voice said clearly and the grilles slid open again, revealing a couple of wizards and several pale violet paper airplanes. The wizards froze at the sight of Harry, not daring to move, while the paper airplanes entered and fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift while it started to move again.

'What is your plan, by the way?' Hermione asked suddenly.

'My plan? For what?'

'For solving your next case, Sherlock!' she said sarcastically. 'For obtaining that weird locket, of course!'

'Why do I need a plan for that?'

Hermione looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. 'You aren't telling me right now that you will just walk in there, murder Umbridge, take that locket and leave like nothing ever happened, are you?'

 _There._

There was that not-so-innocent smile of his many variants that she was used to since they were eleven. Apart from the fact that in their earlier years, that smile wasn't hiding a murderer.

'And what about Yaxley? He was kind of... weird. What if noticed that...?'

'That, _what_ , exactly? Hermione, stop being so paranoid. He probably just assumes that I intend on screwing you in the Ministry, just for a little bit adrenaline rush and the fun of it.'

Hermione couldn't help but blush at his words.

She had never heard him talk like _that_ before.

His laughter resounded in the lift, hitting her from all directions. ' _Ah_ , darling, relax. I won't touch you unless you ask me to. I may be a murderer and a manipulator, but I'm not a rapist.'

'Yes, because you've got that Bellatrix lunatic waiting for you in your bed, don't you? Those needs are satisfied, I guess.'

He seemed to consider her words for a second before he stopped studying her hard face and smirked. 'Precisely.'

' _Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,_ ' said the disembodied witch's voice.

The grilles only slid apart to reveal an empty corridor. As soon as the purple paper airplanes left the lift, it closed itself again and kept moving further upward.

Hermione could hear Harry mutter under his breath, 'My, my, Dolores, where are you?'

The golden grilles opened and Hermione gasped.

Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation; a longhaired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold, and squat, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.

* * *

 _'Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr. Potter. No, not with your quill,' she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. 'You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are.' She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point. 'I want you to write_ I must not tell lies _,' she told him softly._

 _'How many times?' Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness._

 _'Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in,' said Umbridge sweetly. 'Off you go.'_

 _She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking._

 _Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing. 'You haven't given me any ink,' he said._

 _'Oh, you won't need ink,' said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice._

 _Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote:_ I must not tell lies.

 _He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth._

 _Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile. 'Yes?'_

 _'Nothing,' said Harry quielty._

 _'Yes, that is right, Mr. Potter. I know exactly what you are doing, what you have been doing all these years under Dumbledore's wing and blind eyes... I have seen behind your lies, your charade. I know what kind of boy you are and what kind of man you will grow to be. Just leave me time to gather my evidence. Now, carry on.'_

 _He glared at her for a moment, considering her words, before looking back at the parchment, placing the quill on it once more, writing_ I must not tell lies, _and feeling the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later. And on it went._

 _Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment._

 _Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window._

 _Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill._

 _'Come here,' she said, after what seemed hours. He stood up._

 _His hand was stinging painfully. When he looked down at it he saw that the cut had healed, but that the skin there was red raw._

 _'Hand,' she said. He extended it. She took it in her own._

 _Harry repressed a shudder as she touched him with her thick, stubby fingers on which she wore a number of ugly old rings. 'Hm, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet,' she said, smiling. 'Well, we'll just have to try again tomorrow evening, won't we? You may go.'_

 _Harry left her office without a word._

 _The school was quite deserted; it was surely past midnight._

 _He walked slowly up the corridor, then, when he had turned the corner and was sure she would not hear him, broke into a run, advicing himself to be more careful in Umbridge's presence in the future; there was no way, that woman of all the people he had met, was discovering the truth behind the boy's secrets._

* * *

Harry's right hand seemed to burn just for another time at the barely sight of the woman standing before him. _I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies, I must not tell lies_ —

Umbridge's familiar sharp eyes widened the second they fell on the young man with the jet black hair. Her thick hands gripped tightly around the clipboard, using it as some kind of shelter and protection from the boy.

'Dolores, and the thing with Cattermole's wife must be done quickly, no grace, I am certain that—' the new Minister of Magic, Pius Thicknesse whispered into her ear before he noticed Harry and Hermione in the lift. 'Ah, Potter! How wonderful to see you. I don't see you very often in our beloved Ministry and neither with a young woman. Where is it you are going? May you need my help?'

Harry smiled politely at the Minister, well-aware of the fact that he was under the Imperius Curse and therefore surely no problem. 'Thank you very much, Pius, but I require the specific hand of our dearest Dolores here. My girlfriend and I have discovered a hideout for Muggle-borns. Certainly that has to be taken care of.'

Hermione looked up to stare at him.

'Precisely. Dolores, go and help our friend. I am certain Yaxley can cover for you at Mary Cattermole's trial. Good day, Potter,' Pius added and nodded his head into Harry's direction.

'Good day, Minister,' Harry replied shortly with a smile and watched Thicknesse walking away, leaving him, Hermione and Umbridge alone in the lift.

The golden grilles closed themselves, trapping the three of them inside.

It was dead silent, until—

'There is no need to draw your wand, Dolores,' Harry said cheerfully, obviously satisfied to finally be able of taking revenge on Umbridge for everything that she has ever done to him and obtaining the locket he so desperately wanted to possess.

Umbridge froze, her hand at her pocket. Instead, Harry's fingers were quick as a lightning as they took away Umbridge's short wand, leaving her completely defenceless.

She closed her eyes for a second or two, praying for something that all of them knew wouldn't come to her rescue. When she opened them again, they were directed at Hermione's tired brown eyes, staring at them with utter contempt. 'So that little stupid girl did join your evil crusade? No surprise. What about the Weasley brat?'

'He's none of your business!' hissed Hermione. No matter how much she despised Harry, she would never forgive Umbridge for anything that she had done.

Umbridge snorted.

The golden grilles aparted again. Harry pushed Umbridge out of the lift, following her closely while Hermione went along with them, not sure what would happen next. They stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above.

As the lift rattled away again, Hermione shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. She couldn't help but think of Sirius and his bark-like laughter. Immediately, her eyes flickered over to the back of Harry's head. Was he thinking of him, too?

They set off, their destination not the black door, but the doorway he remembered on the left-hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers.

Hermione was the first one to notice the sudden unnatural chill that was creeping over them, as if they were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step they took; a cold that reached right down into their throats and tore at their lungs.

And then, she felt that stealing sense of despair, of hopelessness, filling her, expanding inside her—Dementors.

How was that possible? How was it possible for her to feel even more desperate, even more hopeless and weak, at the final end of her strength? Wasn't she already done, finished with everything good and positive? Wasn't all her hope already taken away by the very man standing in front of her right now, stepping closely to her, shielding her from the dementors's sight?

The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggle-borns, people just like her, brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors' greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon Hermione like a curse.

Umbridge had started to shiver a little.

'Hermione, I won't conjure a Patronus. Just stay close to me, they are not allowed to attack,' he muttered, waiting for her to take his side.

Unwillingly, she obeyed.

Together, they moved forward silently, and with every step she took numbness seemed to steal over her brain; unconsciously, she grabbed his free left arm tightly, buried her pale face into his shoulder while following him as he directed Umbridge into an empty dungeon on the right corridor and closing the heavy door shut behind them. Before the door closed, Hermione heared the name Mary Cattermole being called out.

It wasn't the same room in which Harry had once been interrogated for improper use of magic. This one was much smaller, though the ceiling was quite as high; it gave the claustrophobic sense of being stuck at the bottom of a deep well.

While Harry cast a Silencing Charm on the door, which was probably not necessary since the walls and the door seemed to be thick enough to not let any noise through, Hermione's eyes wandered over to Slytherin's Locket, the piece of jewellery that was a Horcrux and resting on Umbrige's chest.

'You were right, Harry, she has it,' she said silently, somewhat intrigued by the thing. What exactly was so special about it? Why did Harry want it so much that he would go on a secret mission without his new chief knowing?

'Of course I was.'

Umbridge followed their gazes and stared down at the jewellery with disbelief. 'What? Do you want it, is that why you've come here today? Then here you go, take it!' she exclaimed, gripped around the serpent-like _S_ and threw it to Harry's feet. 'Take it!'

A twisted smirk appeared on Harry's face; he bent down, picked up the locket and put it around his neck, so that it was now shining golden on his chest, as he rose again.

'I appreciate your cooperation, Dolores, but I'm afraid that this piece of jewellery is not the only thing I want from you,' he said clearly, slowly pulling out his wand and stepping closer and closer to the toad-like figure, causing it to retreat until it reached a hard chair. Harry gave her a little push and watched as Umbridge fell into the chair, looking up at him with anxious and scorned small eyes.

'What do you want from me? Do you want money? A job in the Ministry? A free ticket for your Mudblood friend over there?'

Harry sighed, his eyebrows contracted. 'You should know that I'm not impressed by that word. It kind of annoys me already, really. Especially when it comes from such a hypocrite like you.'

Hermione didn't know what to think. She didn't know what to _do_ —surely, it was obvious what he was going to do with Umbridge, especially since she has seen her name written on his Death List. But, was she supposed to stop him from doing so? Would she be a bad person if she didn't?

'Bad for you, you are written on my personal To Do List, you know, Dolores,' Harry whispered softly, almost affectionately.

Umbridge made the impression of realising his thoughts and plans with her. She swallowed, her eyes searching for a possible escape. Just that there was none.

'Remember when you almost used the Cruciatus Curse on me, Dolores? My Hermione prevented you from doing so, but I saw it in your eyes, at that time. You were ready to seriously hurt a child of fifteen years to obtain a higher reputation and a better career by that old fool Fudge. You are just like the Dursleys, and you know what I have done with them, don't you? That is why you are looking at me with those horrified eyes of yours.'

Hermione knew what he had done with the Dursleys, as well.

'Harry,' she whispered. 'Harry, please. Make it quick. Don't do it, don't protract it, _please_ —'

'Sweetheart, please, don't interfere. This is none of your business,' he told her, his green eyes steadily on Umbridge's face and a hungry expression in them.

'No!' Umbridge screamed, trying to free herself—unsuccessfully. 'NO! Don't! Don't touch me, you filthy _boy_! Stop him, girl! STOP HIM!'

' _CRUCIUS!_ ' he shouted.

Hermione pressed her hands to the ears, not being able to stand the horrible, sharp screams of utter pain and despair. She wished she was numb, deaf, somewhere else—

'HARRY, STOP IT!'

And the screams subsided. Finally.

Umbridge was paler than she had ever been; her eyes were suffused with blood and unusually huge. Dark red liquid was running out of her nose.

Harry put his wand inside one of his pockets, and instead pulled out a sharp silver dagger. 'You despise Muggles, don't you? But you should know one thing about them. They take advantage of thrilling ways of torturing and causing physical pain, I can say that much. After all, they don't have wands.'

And with that, he raised the dagger and it whizzed down, hitting flesh, tearing it apart, revealing dark and warm blood, hard bones, severed muscles—

Hermione ran towards him, tugging at his blood-stained sleeves, yelling for him to calm down, to cease this terrible torture. 'HARRY! _HARRY_! It's enough! _ENOUGH_! SHE'S GOT IT, I'VE GOT IT—'

He only threw a short glance at her, his eyes wide and those of a maniac. She stepped back, not without reaching inside of one of his pockets and stealing Umbridge's short wand, running towards the huge black door and opening it, leaving tormentor and victim behind.

'HERMIONE! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?' he shouted, turning his back to the bloodied body that was Umbridge, unconsciously dropping the dagger. He drew his wand, and made his way towards the door that just shut.

He could hear Hermione's voice saying, ' _Expecto Patronum!_ ' before he was even able to touch the door handle. Suddenly, a sharp pain streamed through his left shoulder, causing short waves of ache flowing from its origin to every cell in his body.

When he turned around, he recognised Umbridge's angry features staring back at him, the bloodied dagger in one of her hands and a triumphant smile on her mutilated face.

Without hesitation, he pointed his wand at her, and muttered, ' _Avada Kedavra!_ '

Her tiny body fell to the ground; he had no time to enjoy the sight of Dolores Umbridge's corpse, and instead tore open the door, following the sound of Hermione's voice. When he finally managed to find her, she was forcing the dementors to retreat and yelled at the Muggle-borns and their families to run for their lives as she held back the monsters with her Patronus.

He couldn't help but feel proud of his clever and daring Hermione.

A heavy door on the left corridor was thrown open, presenting the Death Eater called Yaxley they had met earlier. For a moment, he was just staring at Hermione's attempt to free the Muggle-borns, before his hard and cold eyes turned to face Harry. In an instant, he drew his wand and pointed it at his colleague and fellow Death Eater; an unpleasant smile reappearing on his lips.

'Oh, I knew it! I suspected you to shag that one Mudblood woman, but aiding all of them? You are a damned traitor, that is what you are! Just wait before I report the Dark Lord of your—'

Before he could finish his sentence, Harry said, ' _Imperio!_ '

'Yaxley.'

The Death Eater's eyes were glassy, empty and looking into a distance that did not exist. His body was relaxing.

'Yes, Mr. Potter?'

'I want you to put your wand inside of your cloak, now,' he told the older man that obeyed immediately.

'Harry!' Hermione screamed out suddenly. 'Harry, I think there are more Ministry workers coming! We have to get these people out of here, now!'

'Get _these_ people out of here? Hermione, are you out of your freaking mind? Not only them, I guess, we can't leave Yaxley here, he knows too much. Why do you always have to act in such a chivalry way?'

'If you really are angry with me, then why are you smiling?' Hermione muttered loud enough for him to hear.

He shook his head, and turned back around. 'Yaxley, I need you to get all these people and us out of here. Right now. And you will visit me tomorrow evening in my chambers, I will have to talk to you and refresh your Imperius Curse. Act as normal as usual, but don't do anything that I didn't tell you to do. Do you unterstand me, Yaxley?'

'I understand, Mr. Potter.'


	9. Obtainment And Payment

**Disclaimer** : All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Obtainment And Payment**

'Harry!' Hermione shouted, her wand still pointed at the hungry looking Dementors, directing her silvery otter to keep them away from herself and the terrified and paralyzed Muggle-borns standing behind her back, clinging on to each other and whispering prayers. 'I believe there is one of them left—Mary Cattermole, do you remember? The one the Minister mentioned!'

Harry cursed. 'What do you expect me to do, Gandhi?' Still, he turned his head back to the glassy pair of eyes of Yaxley, who was standing in front of him, his arms loosely on his sides. 'Yaxley, where is Mary Cattermole?'

His lips started to move automatically. 'The Mudblood is in there, sir,' he said clearly, his head making a weird movement to the room, another court room, that he had come from.

'I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THAT WORD EVER LEAVE YOUR MOUTH AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND NOW GET HER HERE, UNHARMED!'

While the Death Eater did as he was told, Harry turned around to face Hermione and the others. 'It's been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families,' Harry told the waiting Muggle-borns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronus and still cowering slightly. 'Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That's the—er—new official position. Now, if you'll just follow the Patronus, you'll be able to leave from the Atrium.'

Yaxley and Mrs. Cattermole joined them, the woman trying to free herself from the man's grip and looking around scared. Eventually, her pale eyes landed on Harry, and she screamed. 'Him! Harry Potter! No, please, don't bring me to _him_ —worse than anything else—no, please—'

He rolled his green eyes, sighing irritated. 'If you want to stay here with the Dementors, then that's your choice. We don't have any time for your opinions towards me, do you understand? The same applies for the others. Anyone who declines, will be left for dead. But no pressure.'

Hermione noticed almost half of them hesitating, but in the end all of them stayed where there were, and waited for Harry to lead them. Obviously, their fear of the Dementor's Kiss was bigger than the possibility of Harry leading them into a trap.

They managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts he started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with a silver otter, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggleborns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention; it seemed he had to play the old card of loyal and serving Death Eater, pretending to do duties under Voldemort's orders. He had just reached this conclusion when the lift clanged to a halt in front of them.

They managed to cram themselves into two lifts. Hermione's Patronus stood sentinel before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.

'Level eight,' said the cool witch's voice, 'Atrium.'

Harry knew at once that they were in trouble. The Atrium was full of people moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off.

'Harry!' squeaked Hermione. 'What are we going to—?'

'STOP!' Harry thundered, and his powerful voice echoed through the Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. 'Follow me,' he whispered to the group of terrified Muggleborns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded Hermione.

'What's up, Potter?' said a balding wizard. He looked nervous.

'This lot need to leave before you seal the exits,' said Harry with such an high authority, Hermione couldn't help but feel safe.

The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another. 'We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone—'

'Are you contradicting _me_?' Harry blustered. 'Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had so many other people's before?'

'Sorry!' gasped the balding wizard, backing away. 'I didn't mean nothing, Potter, but I thought... I thought they were in for questioning and...'

'Their blood is pure,' said Harry, and his deep voice echoed impressively through the hall. 'Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go,' he boomed somewhat angrily to the Muggle-borns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs.

The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and resentful. 'But, Potter—'

'Any doubts concerning my very authority shall be directly reported to Voldemort himself, so, if you honestly are skeptical when it comes to me, then make an appointment with our leader, understood? Fantastic,' he added with a polite smile that created an uncomfortable atmosphere rather than a calming one.

'Now come on, you have caused me enough trouble,' Harry hissed darkly into Hermione's right ear, causing the girl to throw a furious glance at him. He ignored it, seized her wrist and they jumped into the green-ish glowing fireplace together as a bewildered und uncertain chaos originated behind them, discussing the sudden turn in the infamous and notorious Harry Potter's usual acts.

No-one noticed that Dolores Umbridge was missing until a few hours later, and the disappearing of her newly received jewellry was never discovered.

* * *

 _'DUBBLEDORE!'_

 _Harry turned to look where Neville was staring._

 _Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. Harry felt a kind of electric charge surge through every particle of his body — even though Harry despised Dumbledore as much as Voldemort himself, he knew that they were saved._

 _Dumbledore sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, who had no more thought of leaving. Dumbledore was already at the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters nearest realized he was there. There were yells; one of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line_

— _Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light: He was laughing at her._

 _'Come on, you can do better than that!' he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock._

 _Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so._

 _He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too. It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch._

 _And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place._

 _Harry heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream, but knew it meant nothing — Sirius had only just fallen through the archway, he would reappear from the other side any second..._

 _But Sirius did not reappear._

 _'SIRIUS!' Harry yelled, 'SIRIUS!'_

 _He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again... But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back._

 _'There's nothing you can do, Harry—'_

 _'Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!'_

 _'It's too late, Harry—'_

 _'We can still reach him—' Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go..._

 _'There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... He's gone.'_

 _'He hasn't gone!' Harry yelled. He did not believe it, he would not believe it; still he fought Lupin with every bit of strength he had: Lupin did not understand, people hid behind that curtain, he had heard them whispering the first time he had entered the room — Sirius was hiding, simply lurking out of sight — 'SIRIUS!' he bellowed, 'SIRIUS!'_

 _'He can't come back, Harry,' said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. 'He can't come back, because he's d —'_

 _'HE — IS — NOT — DEAD — YOU FOOLISH—!' roared Harry. 'SIRIUS!'_

 _There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of more spells. To Harry it was meaningless noise, the deflected curses flying past them did not matter, nothing mattered except that Lupin stop pretending that Sirius, who was standing feet from them behind that old curtain, was not going to emerge at any moment, shaking back his dark hair and eager to reenter the battle — Lupin dragged Harry away from the dais, Harry still staring at the archway, angry at Sirius now for keeping him waiting — But some part of him realized, even as he fought to break free from Lupin, that Sirius had never kept him waiting before... Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him... Unlike the others. And now... If Sirius was not reappearing out of that archway when Harry was yelling for him as though his life depended on it, the only possible explanation was that he could not come back... That he really was..._

 _'NO!' Harry shouted angrily, desperately. 'I WILL MAKE YOU PAY— I WILL MAKE YOU ALL PAY!'_

* * *

He was still holding onto her arm, his grip tight, furious, and firm. More than commonly, actually.

'Harry—let go of me,' she muttered, trying to free herself from him.

'Let go of you?' he said, shortly laughing. 'Just so that you can run away like a little girl that was insulted for her childish stupiditiy, and cause me more trouble than I could have even created with said child? _Again_?'

'Was I supposed to just leave those poor wizards and witches for dead? You know just as well as I do that they won't get any fair trial. This nonsense with pureblood-supremacy—who are you fricking Death Eaters to decide who deserves to live what life? Are you so blind to realise what really matters? Has history taught you nothing? I bet Hitler and Nazi Germany are foreign words to you uneducated bastards—just wait! You'll get what you deserve!' she declared while their way towards the Death Eaters' headquarters, the sight of the pitch black castle-like mansion causing her to get angrier with every step that she took, being forced to return to this awful place.

'How many times do I have to tell you, Darling? The Death Eaters don't care what you think of their politics and ways of achieving of whatever they want. Voldemort doesn't care. _I_ don't care. And believe me, whatever happened with Hitler in the end won't be comparable to what I'll do to—' he broke up, his face turning even paler and his strong grip on her arm slowly disappearing.

'So that is what this is about, isn't it?' Hermione whispered, ignoring his heavy cursing. 'That's what you are doing? K—Killing V—'

Harry's hand was fast as a lightning as it whizzed up, covering her open mouth completely. He pressed her against a dark stone wall, next to the Headquarters' entry. His face was only a few inches from hers—the mask that was shielding him from revealing any thoughts or feelings steadily present.

Hermione's ghost-like brown eyes couldn't help but wander down from the bright green of his eyes, to his lips that were pressed firmly together, holding themselves back. A muscle went in his cheek, his jaw was clearly visible. Her breath was hot against his hand, still he didn't remove it—

The entry doors on their left opened with an impact.

Hermione only saw Harry hiding Slytherin's Locket under his black and blood-stained robes, before a dark figure appeared right in front of them.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

At the sight of Harry and Hermione standing as close together as they were, her somber pair of eyes narrowed.

'Can I offer you my help, Bella?' he said loudly, his voice rough, as if he had been shouting for several hours.

Bellatrix pressed her thin and dark-red painted lips together, her hold on the wand between her long fingers tightening. 'The Dark Lord wishes to see you, Potter. But don't hurry, you can finish screwing your hideous, stupid little Mudblood slut, if that's what you were about to do. I'll just tell our Lord that his favourite soldier prefers a Mudblood's company over his own. We'll see whether he will continue to be as pleased with you as he was, just—'

'Are you finished with your pointless monologue? _You_ are keeping me from talking to him, if I am right,' he said, interrupting the female Death Eater, rolling his emerald eyes.

'You should be careful, Potter,' she said slowly and silently. 'Sometimes _coincidences_ take us everything away that we hold dear.'

Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eyes as he looked at Bellatrix with a blank stare.

Something was going on.

She didn't know what they were referring to and she wasn't quite sure whether she wanted to know it.

Perhaps—

'Of course,' Harry replied suddenly.

He turned back to Hermione, removing his hand from her mouth.

Surprisingly, he bent down, taking one of her pale hands and guiding it towards his lips before he placed them on her knuckles for a light kiss.

After that, he rose once again, smirking devilishly at the girl before him. 'Thank you very much for your company, my dear. I hope you have enjoyed our little adventure just as much as I did. Sweet dreams, Hermione,' he whispered roughly, still clearly audible for Bellatrix' ears, surely his intention. His hands quickly moved upwards, closing themselves around something, before wandering down again, holding Hermione's hands. 'Have a wonderful night, love.'

He had slid an object into her hands. Without having to take a look at it, Hermione hid it in one of her plain brown robe's pockets.

'Enough!' Bellatrix declared angrily. 'Go, Potter! I will bring your Mudblood bitch to the dungeons with the rats, just where she belongs.'

Harry threw a meaningful glance at Hermione, his eyes warning her to be careful, to be just as smart as she has always been.

He left—

Leaving her alone with the lunatic that was Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman known to always act on her temper rather than thought-through plans, the woman known to be aggressive and wild, merciless and snooty.

'You will pay for taking him away from me, Mudblood,' she growled into Hermione's ear, as she led her through the dim-lit corridors and floors of the mansion, further down, with every step walking nearer into the coldness.

* * *

 _'It's Polyjuice Potion, sir,' she said._

 _Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione getting the credit for answering the question; she, after all, was the one who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year._

 _'Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here... yes, my dear?' said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again._

 _'It's Amortentia!'_

 _'It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask,' said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, 'but I assume you know what it does?'_

 _'It's the most powerful love potion in the world!' said Hermione._

 _'Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?'_

 _'And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,' said Hermione enthusiastically, 'and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—' But she turned slightly pink, threw a short glance into Harry's direction_ _and did not complete the sentence._

 _'May I ask your name, my dear?' said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment._

 _'Hermione Granger, sir.'_

 _'Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?'_

 _'No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see.'_

 _Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, and Harry felt a heat bubble up inside of him as he felt the urge to beat up the both of the, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her. "Oho!_ 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' _I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?'_

 _'Yes, sir,' said Harry._

 _'Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,' said Slughorn genially._

 _Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face._

 _Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, 'Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!'_

 _'Well, what's so impressive about that?' whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. 'You are the best in the year — I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!'_

 _Hermione smiled but made a "shhing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled. Harry stared at him with observant, narrowed eyes, studying every movement of the red-headed boy who was watching Hermione._

 _'Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes,' he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. 'When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love... And now,' said Slughorn, 'it is time for us to start work.'_

 _'Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one,' said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled._

 _'Oho,' said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. 'Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it,' he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, 'that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?'_

 _'It's liquid luck,' said Hermione excitedly. 'It makes you lucky!'_

 _The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighten Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention._

 _'Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,' said Slughorn. 'Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed... at least until the effects wear off.'_

 _'Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?' said Terry Boot eagerly._

 _'Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence,' said Slughorn. 'Too much of a good thing, you know... highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally...'_

 _'Have you ever taken it, sir?' asked Michael Corner with great interest._

 _'Twice in my life,' said Slughorn. 'Once when I was twentyfour, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days.' He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good._

 _'And that,' said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, 'is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.' There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold. 'One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,' said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. 'Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt. Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions... sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only... and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary! So,' said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, 'how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced PotionMaking. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!'_

 _While the others were hastily starting to get ready, Harry hesitated._

 _Wouldn't it be entirely helpful to have a little bit of luck in his pocket in order to accomplish his plans?_

* * *

'You asked for me, my Lord?' Harry said with a forced polite tone, his expression hard as he closed the doors to Voldemort's chambers, staring into the scarlet eyes of his parents' murderer.

'Harry, my boy, yes,' the answer was. 'Come closer, come closer. Let your leader see his most faithful soldier.'

Harry stepped nearer towards the throne-like stone chair that said leader was sitting on.

His white spider-like hands were folded, the scarlet eyes of their owner burning into the young man's eyes.

'I have heard of your little... excursion.'

Harry didn't answer.

He would have, but he had learned to tame his hot temperament.

'Harry, _Harry_ , Harry.'

Voldemort stood up from his throne-chair, stroking his pitch black cloak and walking down towards the green-eyed man, observing him as the skilled Legilimens that he was. Still, Harry had learned hard, in secret, of course, to close his mind from Voldemort's attempts to invade them, mastering Occlumency almost as good as Voldemort was at Legilimency.

'What were you thinking, my boy? Indeed, I am aware of your desires to vanquish the ones that have failed you a long time ago, but you have to take more advantage of your brain, my good little soldier. Murdering Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, right in the middle of the Ministry? I am not saying that I pity her decease because of her being _irreplaceable_ , certainly not. On principle, my followers must not attack our own political system, our little regime, you understand that, don't you, Harry?'

'Certainly,' Harry replied shortly, his voice careful and slow.

'Then why did you set more than twenty Mudbloods free? I have taught you that they are nothing but abominations, scum, not worth the dirt on our shoes. Even the blind and low-educated Muggles are holding a higher ranking than these abhorrences. I have taught you all of that, haven't I?'

'Yes, you have, actually,' Harry answered monotonously.

Voldemort sighed, a false smile on his lip-less, pale face. 'Still, none of that has changed your obvious... _dedication_ to that filth, has it? I am beginning to doubt that Hermione Granger's presence is a favorable decision.'

'You don't have to worry about my loyalty,' Harry retarted, after a long pause. 'Today's unfortunate event was merely the product of successive accidents and calamities, a sheer inadvertence, I can assure you of that.'

Green stared into red, scarlet into emerald.

'Certainly, I do not doubt you, my boy. Unfortunately, it is, nevertheless, my duty, as an impartial leader, to punish those who have displeased and disappointed me. There shall be no rumors concerning my capabilities of disciplining my followers. Even, or, especially when they are under my personal wing.'

Harry's eyes narrowed, 'Of course.'

Voldemort raised his long wand, pointing it directly at Harry's scar on his forehead. ' _Crucio!_ '

* * *

 _'Let's go to the Three Broomsticks,' said Harry. 'It'll be warm.'_

 _They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks._

 _One was very tall and thin; squinting through his rain-washed glasses Harry recognized the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when Harry realized who the man was._

 _'Mundungus!' The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window._

 _'Oh, 'ello, 'Arry,' said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. 'Well, don't let me keep ya.'_

 _And he began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone._

 _'Are you selling this stuff?' asked Harry, watching Mundungus grab an assortment of grubby-looking objects from the ground._

 _'Oh, well, gotta scrape a living,' said Mundungus. 'Gimme that!'_

 _Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver._

 _'Hang on,' Ron said slowly. 'This looks familiar—'_

 _'Thank you!' said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron's hand and stuffing it back into the case. 'Well, I'll see you all — OUCH!'_

 _Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand._

 _'Harry!' squealed Hermione._

 _'You took that from Sirius's house,' said Harry, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. 'That had the Black family crest on it.'_

 _'I — no — what—?' spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple._

 _'What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?' snarled Harry._

 _'I — no—'_

 _'Give it to me!'_

 _'Harry, you mustn't!'_ _shrieked Hermione, as Mundungus started to turn blue._

 _Harry leaned further down, his face next to Mundungus's head. 'I have enough of you, Mundungus,' he whispered into the man's ear, 'I will kill you, you filthy_ _—'_

 _There was a bang, and Harry felt his hands fly off Mundungus's throat. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then —_ CRACK _— he Disapparated._

 _Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone. 'COME BACK, YOU THIEVING—!'_

 _'There's no point, Harry.'_

 _Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet. 'Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling.'_

 _'He's nicked Sirius's stuff! Nicked it!'_

 _'Yes, but still,' said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. 'You should get out of the cold.' She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks._

 _The moment he was inside, Harry burst out, 'He was nicking Sirius's stuff!'_

 _'I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring,' whispered Hermione. 'Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink.'_

 _Harry was still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding three bottles of butterbeer. 'Can't the Order control Mundungus?' Harry demanded of the other two in a furious whisper. 'Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?'_

 _'Shh!' said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. 'Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing—' Harry gagged on his butterbeer; he had momentarily forgotten that he owned number twelve, Grimmauld Place._

 _'Yeah, it's my stuff!' he said. 'No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus.'_

 _Even though he had said that, he was already planning on killing the filthy Mundungus Fletcher, imagining how he'd rip out his throat, choke him with the very things he had stolen_ —

 _'Good idea,' whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. Still, she was eyeing him with a worried expression. Slowly, and unvisible to Ron's or anyone's eyes, her hand reached out to touch his long, pale fingers._

 _Harry's head snapped out of his bloody thoughts, staring down at the girl holding his fist._

 _Her cheeks were flushed, and there was her most beautiful and earnest smile on her lips._

 _Harry couldn't help but squeeze her hand back._

* * *

Where was Ron?

What did they do with him?

They couldn't have harmed him—

Harry had promised to keep his part of their deal!

But then— _where was he?_

'Professor!' Hermione exclaimed while running around in her little cell. 'Professor Snape, you must know what they did with Ron! Where is he? How is he? Did they hurt him? What—'

'For god's sake, spare me, Miss Granger,' Snape snapped furiously. 'I am certainly not your little secretary. What do I care what they do with your stupid friend? And I believe the time is over that you call me _Professor_ , or aren't we in a dungeon in the middle of nowhere?'

Hermione became, unusually for her, angry at one of her professors. 'In the middle of nowhere? Right, because you weren't a Death Eater, were you? I hope you realise that an innocent boy's life is at stake because of your stubbornness!' she snorted and threw herself to the ground, letting out a frustrated growl.

'You are trying to make me feel guilty? Aren't you the one that aides the Death Eaters, and one of the highest ranked one, by that?' Snape replied, his voice oily. 'And that just because of some childish feelings that you teenagers call love.'

Her cheeks flushed, a deep red colour. Luckily, no-one could see it. 'I have no idea what you are talking about! I don't—I don't love—'

The iron door was thrown open.

With quick steps, a dark figure came closer to the middle cell, Hermione's cell.

It was Harry.

 _Of course._

 _Who else could it be?_

Hermione inhaled sharply.

'What has happened to you?' she whispered, the red of her cheeks being replaced by a sick-grey looking colour.

There were cuts on his bare arms, deep cuts, everywhere, on his face, on his neck, surely also on his chest—the shirt he was wearing was soaked in scarlet blood—his _own_ blood.

He looked like he had gone through approximately twenty curses, probably the Cruciatus Curse. His skin was not pale anymore; it was as white as snow, with a light green-ish tone. One of his eyes was swollen.

'Was it Bellatrix?' Hermione whispered, running towards the lattice bars, holding onto them with one hand, while the other reached out to touch his brutally beaten face. 'Was it her? Answer me, Harry!'

'It is funny, actually,' Snape interrupted them. 'How fast you come to forget about the whereabouts of pathetic Weasley when your precious Potter shows up. No, you don't love him at all.'

'Shut up!' Hermione shouted. She couldn't look into Harry's bright green eyes, the ones she once fell in love with—God, what was he thinking of her right now—

'Hermione,' he said, his voice unusually soft, almost affectionally.

When she looked up, he wasn't smiling. He wasn't angry. He wasn't irritated. He just... stared at her.

Calmly.

Slightly, slightly confused.

But still, calmly.

'Don't worry about me,' he said, almost not believing he had to say those words. 'I am here to thank you. You were a great help today, even though a little pain in the arse, I have to say. But now, I need you to give me our obtainment. I will protect it. Alright?'

'Alright,' Hermione whispered, her voice low.


	10. Being Worthy

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Being Worthy**

The streets were filthy, the alleys covered in mud, and cigarettes, and dried blood. Moonlight was weakly shining down at him, any other lights and lamps extinguished.

There was the high-pitched short laughter of a woman, followed by a muttered groan of a man, his voice a mere whisper of rough words and suppressed lust.

He put the collar of his black coat up, his pale hands inside of the pockets, only inches away from the phoenix wand.

He walked past the former woman, a prostitute spreading her bare legs in the darkness, laughing against the neck of a rather old man who was pressing her against the cold stone walls of nearby empty houses and stores, his hair grey-ish and thin.

He smelled smoke, liquor and filth, as he stopped in front of a burgundy door in the middle of the darkest and deepest corners of London. His feet had just come to cease in their movements as a rectangle in the door filled itself with light, before dark blue eyes stared into bright green eyes.

The stranger's pair narrowed. 'Yes?'

'Let me in,' he replied silently. The woman behind him was letting out a tiny scream of ecstasy.

'Password?'

'You know who I am, Quentin, I have no time for your childish games.'

'As you wish, Mr. Potter,' said Quentin with a smutty grin on his hairy face, closing the small window again and opening the burgundy door, allowing Harry entrance into the wizarding brothel.

The light was dim, a rather reddish colour flowing in the huge room, giving a few wizards their assured privacy and anonymity while kissing and licking the faces and necks of naked prostitutes, getting warmed up for their desired relief.

' _Oooh_ , Mr. Potter! We haven't seen you in ages!' said one of the women, her dirty blond hair covering the hard features of a customer who pressed his face into her bare collarbone. She smirked at Harry as the client's huge hands grabbed her nude behind.

He stopped. 'It's a pleasure to see you again, Svetlana. How is the business going?'

She sighed as one of the man's hands cupped her naked breast. 'Oh, the usual. Do you want a girl or—'

'Shut your face, Lana! Just spread your legs, you _damned_ whore, and concentrate on me rather than another fucking man!' the harsh voice of the customer growled.

'My, my, that's no way to speak to a lady, Rodolphus,' Harry said, a soft sigh escaping his smiling lips.

The man froze, his hands ceased their exploration of the prostitute's body. Finally, he looked up, his long, dark brown hair falling out of his face. His eyes were huge, filled with a mixture of lust, anger and joy. 'Look at that,' he exclaimed. ' _Harry Potter!_ What an honour to see you again, fellow. Here to fuck some bitch's pussy? Tired of my wife's?'

Rodolphus Lestrange laughed, slapping the woman's butt before letting her go and turning his attention to the green-eyed young man. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?'

'I came here to ask for your assistance, Rodolphus, my friend.'

'Friend? Since when do you have friends? Weren't you the guy who killed all his buddies, _mh?_ ' the Death Eater said, a big grin stretching itself on his mouth. 'Ah, I won't act like a dick. After all, we both share the same woman's bed, right? So, tell me, what do you want me to do? And what's in for me?'

'I need to visit the Lestrange Vault,' Harry whispered, stepping closer to the sitting husband of Bellatrix whose eyes narrowed at his words. ' _Your_ vault at Gringotts.'

' _My_ vault?' Rodolphus repeated, leaning back and watching the raven-haired man. 'What for? What has my vault at that fricking bank to do with you?' His twisted face visibly relaxed, lines decreasing as he realised something. 'Ah,' he muttered. 'It has to do with Bella, hasn't it? That's why you are not asking her instead of me. Am I right, Potter?'

'Would you do that for me, Rodolphus?' Harry asked, ingoring the fellow Death Eater's questions.

Lestrange smirked, folding his hands and cocking one of his bushy eyebrows. 'Of course. I'd do anything to infuriate that fucking bitch; after all, she's cheating on me with a damned boy. No offense, mate.'

Harry grinned. 'Aren't you cheating on her aswell?'

Rodolphus rolled his eyes, sighing. 'You haven't told me my reward yet, pal.'

Harry snapped with his fingers.

Svetlana returned; but not alone. Following her cat-like light steps, there was a brunette with the wickedest smile, a redhead with long soft legs, a blue-eyed beauty with a small whip, and the brothel's most popular whore; Diana, a woman with very long golden hair, thick, red lips and an extremely curvy body.

As the women circled around Lestrange, Harry said, 'Are you in?'

'I'm in, I'm definitely in, mate.'

* * *

 _A few days before the match against Ravenclaw, Harry found himself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay. More out of habit than anything, Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder's Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he saw Malfoy's tiny, labeled dot standing in a boys' bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle._

 _Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armor. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open._

 _Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed._

 _'Don't,' crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. 'Don't... tell me what's wrong ... I can help you...'_

 _'No one can help me,' said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. 'I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... and unless I do it soon ... he says he'll kill me—'_

 _And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying—actually crying—tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into flu-cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder._

 _Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another—_

 _'No! No! Stop it!' squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. 'Stop! STOP!'_

 _There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried, 'Cruci—'_

 _'SECTUMSEMPRA!' bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly._

 _Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand._

 _'Yes...' whispered Harry._

 _Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest._

 _'Yes. Die, you filthy bastard. Die for everything you've said to Hermione.'_

 _Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood, hypnotized by the beautiful sight of Malfoy dying. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream:_

 _'MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!'_

 _The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, irritated. interrupted in one of his dreams: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy's face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting._

 _Harry was still watching, amazed by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his counter-curse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position._

 _'You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that... come...'_

 _He supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, 'And you, Potter... You wait here for me.'_

 _He stood up slowly, shaking by suppressed joy, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface._

 _Snape returned ten minutes later. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him._

 _'Go,' he said to Myrtle, and she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her._

 _'I didn't mean it to happen,' said Harry at once, all innocence a lie. His voice echoed in the cold, watery space. 'I didn't know what that spell did.'_

 _But Snape ignored this. 'Apparently I underestimated you, Potter,' he said quietly. 'Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?'_

 _'I read about it somewhere.' And I fricking loved using it._

 _'Where?'_

 _'It was a library book,' Harry invented wildly. 'I can't remember what it was call—'_

 _'Liar,' said Snape. Harry's throat went dry; after all his preperations and plans, his future attempts couldn't fail now just because of that bloody idiot Malfoy. He knew what Snape was going to do and he had never been able to prevent it._

 _The bathroom seemed to shimmer before his eyes; he struggled to block out all thought, but try as he might, the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hazily to the forefront of his mind._

 _And then he was staring at Snape again, in the midst of this wrecked, soaked bathroom. He stared into Snape's black eyes, hoping against hope that Snape had not seen what he feared, but—_

 _'Bring me your schoolbag,' said Snape softly, 'and all of your schoolbooks. All of them. Bring them to me here. Now!'_

 _At least it was nothing that could endanger his charade._

* * *

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Three hundred and thirty six hours.

That's how pathetic she had become, counting the days he had last come to see her.

Her thoughts were dwelling on the still-clear memory of the young man's devilishly smirk on his sick-pale looking face, making the countless bruises, cuts and and tumescenes on his entire body look as a typical casualty, the irrelevant side-effect of being a maniac.

Before he had left her side in the dark and empty dungeon she was currently spending her time in, apart from when some random Death Eater came to bring her to a bathroom three times a day, he had taken the Slytherin Locket with him, wearing it under his black robes and shirts.

What was he thinking? Leaving her here to rot? Not bringing himself up to look into the tired girl's eyes?

The mere social contacts she had left were the toilet-Death Eater, the spy Severus Snape who rather made fun of her than be proper company, and Ron, who had become quite obsessed with creating plans on how to escape this place and kidnap Voldemort's favourite soldier, the very man who was so eagerly avoiding her for two weeks already.

After Harry's and Hermione more or less successful obtainment of the so-called horcrux, she had feared for Ron's safety due to his absence. Soon, she learned that he was taking by the Death Eaters and in order to clean the whole mansion on his own. Since he, along with Hermione and Snape, was Harry's prisoner, they weren't allowed to harm him unless he agreed to it; that's how they created the rather boring idea of punishment for being a blood traitor by cleaning and scrubbing.

Hermione wondered why grown-up men and women came up with such silly, childish and insignificant ideas. But it wasn't as if one could expect much from radical terrorists who believed in the importance of the purity of blood, the meaning of being the product of a so-called _true liaison_ , and the significance of dominating and ruling over supposedly less notable and replaceable people. _Muggles_ , in their opinion. Muggle-borns, just like herself, or how they rather called it: _Mudbloods_. Filthy, stealing, evil Mudbloods that had forced their way and place into the wizarding world.

'Utter nonsense,' she muttered to herself, her face, pale from deprivation of sunlight, in her rough hands while she sat next to the cold lattice of her cell.

'Hermione?' Ron said suddenly, his usually soft and high voice rough and tired, a mere whisper of a broken boy.

'Hmm?'

'Tell me, how many ways are there out of this place? How many doors and windows? Holes, even?'

Hermione raised her head, noticing the aching throb that erupted the second she moved. She didn't know why but her heart was beating very fast now. 'Why do you ask, Ron?'

' _Why am I asking_? Well, it seems you have forgotten that we are in dirty, dark dungeons at the moment, but I have not. Don't you care about a chance to escape this awful place? Haven't you paid attention when Bloody Harry took you those two times?' he snapped, his voice rising. Hermione was certain he was clenching his freckle-covered fists.

She pressed her lips tightly together. _Oh, I am sorry, Ron, that I haven't looked for a way out when my mind was occupied because of this fricking mission of Harry_ —

'Hermione?' he said again, obviously calmer.

She didn't reply.

'I'm sorry, Hermione. I know you weren't by his side if he wouldn't force you to. No matter what he's making you do, I know that you only obey because of me. I haven't told you how grateful I am for that, have I? You saved my life, after all. I'm sorry I can't help _you_.'

 _If he wouldn't force me to stay by his side?_

Well, he wasn't.

Harry wasn't forcing her to do anything, not anymore, at least.

He wasn't even paying attention to her, _that bloody bastard_ —

'It's just, I don't want to give up, you know? I mean, when I am seconds away from just letting everything happen, letting them do what the hell they want to do with me, I think; what would my parents say? Or Fred and George? They'd be so pissed off at me. And Ginny! She'd kick me in my arse!' he laughed a tiny, sad laugh. 'I don't want to die. Not yet, anyways,' he confessed silently. If it wasn't as quiet as it was, Hermione wouldn't even have heard him.

'I know,' she replied. 'You won't. I promise.'

'Don't do that. It's not your job to.'

'It is, you are my friend. My only friend, after all, aren't you?'

Ron sighed heavily. 'Do you know anything about Neville? Or Luna? And what about Seamus and Dean, Lavender and Parvati? What happened with all of our school mates? I know that Harry often spends time at Hogwarts, I have overheard some Death Eater mention that. Do you reckon they are still alive?'

Hermione's muscles tensed, her brown eyes snapping open and one of her rough hands grabbing the cold lattice, searching for something to hold on to. 'I hope so,' she whispered, thinking of Neville talking passionately about one of his favourite plants, and Luna reading The Quibbler upside down, Seamus blowing his school boiler up, Dean explaining the function of Muggle sport, football, and Lavender and Parvati, chatting about their favourite subject, Divination, while putting some nail polish on—

Ron made a random noise. 'I bet. He can't kill the whole school, can he?'

'I don't know,' she answered after a few seconds, not entirely sure.

A pause.

'What is he _doing_ with you, Hermione? I mean, when he takes you away,' he added, his voice sounding strange, as if it was coming from a far, far place. 'Has he... has he touched you? Did he try to... did he force you to...'

'Please, Ron, you don't have to worry about me,' she interrupted him, clearly aware of his uncomfortable situation. She ignored the heat in her head. 'He is treating me fine.'

Ron didn't seem to be convinced. 'You can tell me, Hermione. I'll kill him if he has done... _that_.'

'You can't. And you won't, because he hasn't done anything, I promise you,' she assured him.

'Right,' he muttered, somehow relieved. 'But he hasn't come in a long time, has he? I guess he got bored with you, right? Better for you, he's just—'

Hermione let him talk, allowed him to set his suppressed anger free, just agreeing from time to time with him, not being aware of what he was saying—

Ron hadn't noticed how much his words hurt her.

 _He got bored with you, right?_

These words were like the cutting of sharp knives, ripping her soft skin open, digging themselves into her flesh, her bones, her soul.

Suddenly, a heavy metallic door was thrown open, crashing to the hard wall behind it.

Ron ceased with his little monologue and waited for what would happen next.

Hermione was too tired to sit up, her vision was swirling, her head was aching, her bones were screaming for a soft rest. Her eyes were half-open, lazily staring into the distance until the bright light was turned on.

Hermione involuntarily pressed her brown eyes and lips tightly together, hissing at the burning sensation of the flickering light. The throbbing in her already aching head increased. She let out a flat breath.

'Wakey, wakey, sunshines!' a familiar voice exclaimed excitedly, coming nearer and nearer until it reached her cell.

'What do you want, Lestrange?' Ron shouted angrily and impatiently.

 _Lestrange?_

Oh, _no_.

Bellatrix laughed loudly at his sudden statement, the extreme high tone echoing from the bare stone walls.

Hermione pressed her rough hands to her ears. _Oh_ , she didn't feel well.

'Oh, Ronald, it is hardly my obligation to justify myself in front of scum like you, is it? You shouldn't forget where you are standing, blood traitor,' the mad woman screamed.

Hermione felt a movement next to her left ear, as Bellatrix leaned down to the sick girl, her breathing fast and wet on her pale skin.

'Look at that one. You don't look too well, do you, Mudblood? A bit pale around your little ugly nose, right? Well, if it makes you feel better, you were never a beauty. Nothing has changed!' She laughed into her face before she reached with one of her long hands between the grids and gripped her matted brown hair, pulling the girl closer to her.

'Leave her _alone_ , you damned lunatic! Don't you touch her—!' Ron yelled, hitting at his grids.

Hermione mananged to open her eyes, staring directly into the beautiful but loony face of Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort's best lieutenant.

A grin, a dangerous grin spread itself on the woman's thin lips, her dark eyes huge with ecstasy. Their eyes locked, dark against light brown, before she seized her wand and pointed it at Ron's cell.

'No, leave him alone, you can't hurt him!'

'Shut up, Mudblood. I _can_ hurt him, but I _won't_ ,' Bellatrix muttered, her grip onto Hermione's hair tightening. 'That's not why I have come here tonight. But _you_ know why, don't you, you bitch? After all, I have warned you, and they say you are a quick thinker.'

 _Of course she knew._

 _She had known it the minute Bellatrix Lestrange's voice had echoed through the dark dungeons._

'What is she talking about, Hermione?' Ron shouted loudly, his shoulders crashing against the iron lattice of his cell. 'Don't you touch her, you freaking maniac!'

Bellatrix waved her surprisingly short wand, thus opening the small entrance that separated herself from the ill girl. The woman was breathing highly audible, her steps as those of a cat on the hunt, reaching closer and closer to her bait.

Hermione desired to kick out, scream at the top of her lungs, bite on the first skin she could reach. But she couldn't. She felt as if the last drop of energy had left her thin body.

' _Bellatrix!_ You should learn how to control your emotions,' Snape said, his voice rough and deep. He hadn't used it in ages.

' _Ooh_ , shut up, Snape! No one needs an advice from a traitor! That mudblood wife of Potter senior is better off without you now, isn't she? I can truly understand why her son chose to let you rot, immediately pulling you back to life when you were on the brink of death. No, I'd have never allowed you to die, either,' she hissed, a laughter escaping her lips. 'We should make sure your little hero Potter won't be able to hear us, right? After all, we do not want to be interrupted in this... enchanting adventure of ours.' She muttered an incantation, putting a Silencing Charm on the cell's door, therefore taking any chance of rescue away. ' _Are you ready, my dear?_ '

* * *

 _Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth._

 _'Your good health, Harry.'_

 _And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, amazed, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb._

 _'Professor? he said, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. 'How do you feel?'_

 _Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. He wished he was. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more._

 _In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy._

 _'Professor Dumbledore?' said Harry, his voice excited. 'Can you hear me?'_

 _Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady._

 _'Professor, can you hear me?' he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern._

 _Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognize, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this._

 _'I don't want... don't make me...'_

 _Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do. He was satisfied with Dumbledore's pain, after all, he deserved it_ — _but he also needed the Horcrux. He needed to avenge his parents. He needed to make Voldemort vulnerable again._

 _'...don't like... want to stop...' moaned Dumbledore._

 _'You can't stop, Professor!' said Harry, angry by the old man's weakness. 'You've got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here...'_

 _Thrilled by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back toward Dumbledore's mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside._

 _'No ...' he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. 'I don't want to. I don't want to... let me go...'_

 _'It's all right, Professor,' said Harry. 'It's all right, I'm here_ —'

 _'Make it stop, make it stop,' moaned Dumbledore._

 _'Yes... yes, this'll make it stop,' lied Harry with a soft smile. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water._

 _'No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to...'_

 _'It's all right, Professor, it's all right!' said Harry loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth gobletful of potion; the basin was now half empty. 'Nothing's happening to you, you're safe, it isn't real, I swear it isn't real_ — _take this, now, take this...'_

 _And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably._

 _'It's all my fault, all my fault,' he sobbed. 'Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I'll never, never again...'_

 _'This will make it stop, Professor,' Harry said, he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore's mouth._

 _Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry's trembling hands as he moaned, 'Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, it's my fault, hurt me instead...'_

 _'Here, drink this, drink this, you'll be all right,' said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot._

 _And now he fell forward, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet._

 _'Please, please, please, no... not that, not that, I'll do anything...'_

 _"Just drink, Professor, just drink..."_

 _Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire._

 _'No more, please, no more...'_

 _Harry scooped up a tenth gobletful of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin._

 _'We're nearly there, Professor. Drink this, drink it...'_

 _He supported Dumbledore's shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass; then Harry was on his feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, 'I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!'_

 _I also want you to die, old fool, Harry thought angrily, but not tonight._

 _'Drink this, Professor. Drink this...'_

 _Dumbledore drank, and no sooner had he finished than he yelled, 'KILL ME!'_

 _'This one will!' gasped Harry. 'Just drink this... it'll be over... all over!'_

 _Dumbledore gulped at the goblet, drained every last drop, and then, with a great, rattling gasp, rolled over onto his face._

 _'No!' shouted Harry, who had stood to refill the goblet again; instead he dropped the cup into the basin, flung himself down beside Dumbledore, and heaved him over onto his back; Dumbledore's glasses were askew, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. 'No.' said Harry, shaking Dumbledore, 'no, you're not dead, you said it wasn't poison, wake up, wake up_ — _you are my only chance of revenge now, don't die now, you can do it later_ — _Rennervate!' he cried, his wand pointing at Dumbledore's chest; there was a flash of red light but nothing happened. 'Rennervate_ — _please_ — _'_

 _Dumbledore's eyelids flickered; Harry's heart leapt._

 _'Sir, are you_ —'

 _'Water,' croaked Dumbledore._

 _'Water,' panted Harry. 'Yes.'_

 _He leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it._

 _'Aguamenti!' he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand._

 _The goblet filled with clear water; Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head, and brought the glass to his lips_ — _but it was empty. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant._

 _'But I had some_ — _wait_ — _Aguamenti!' said Harry again, pointing his wand at the goblet. Once more, for a second, clear water gleamed within it, but as he approached Dumbledore's mouth, the water vanished again._

 _'Sir, I'm trying, I'm trying!' said Harry desperately, but he did not think that Dumbledore could hear him; he had rolled onto his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonizing. 'Aguamenti_ — _Aguamenti_ — _AGUAMENTI!'_

 _The goblet filled and emptied once more. And now Dumbledore's breathing was fading. His brain whirling in panic, Harry knew, instinctively, the only way left to get water, because Voldemort had planned it so_ —

 _He flung himself over to the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish. 'Sir_ — _here!' Harry yelled, and lunging forward, he tipped the water clumsily over Dumbledore's face._

 _It was the best he could do, for the icy feeling on his arm not holding the cup was not the lingering chill of the water. A slimy white hand had gripped his wrist, and the creature to whom it belonged was pulling him, slowly, backward across the rock. The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth; it was churning, and everywhere Harry looked, white heads and hands were emerging from the dark water, men and women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving toward the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water._

 _'Petrificus Totalus!' yelled Harry, struggling to cling to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm. It released him, falling backward into the water with a splash; he scrambled to his feet, but many more Inferi were already climbing onto the rock, their bony hands clawing at its slippery surface, their blank, frosted eyes upon him, trailing waterlogged rags, sunken faces leering._

 _'Petrificus Totalus!' Harry bellowed again, backing away as he swiped his wand through the air; six or seven of them crumpled, but more were coming toward him. 'Impedimenta! Incarcerous!'_

 _A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing onto the rock behind them merely stepped over or on the fallen bodies. Still slashing at the air with his wand, Harry yelled, 'Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA!'_

 _But though gashes appeared in their sodden rags and their icy skin, they had no blood to spill: they walked on, unfeeling, their shrunken hands outstretched toward him, and as he backed away still farther, he felt arms enclose him from behind, thin, fleshless arms cold as death, and his feet left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely, back to the water, and he knew there would be no release, that he would be drowned, and become one more dead guardian of a fragment of Voldemort's shattered soul... No_ — he needed his revenge.

 _But then, through the darkness, fire erupted: crimson and gold, a ring of fire that surrounded the rock so that the Inferi holding Harry so tightly stumbled and faltered; they did not dare pass through the flames to get to the water. They dropped Harry; he hit the ground, slipped on the rock, and fell, grazing his arms, then scrambled back up, raising his wand and staring around._

 _Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any too, the fire dancing in his eyes; his wand was raised like a torch and from its tip emanated the flames, like a vast lasso, encircling them all with warmth._

 _The Inferi bumped into each other, attempting, blindly, to escape the fire in which they were enclosed..._

 _Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry to come to his side. Distracted by the flames, the Inferi seemed unaware that their quarry was leaving as Dumbledore led Harry back to the boat, the ring of fire moving with them, around them, the bewildered Inferi accompanying them to the waters edge, where they slipped gratefully back into their dark waters._

* * *

She was dying.

She had long ceased to realise and witness what Bellatrix Lestrange was _exactly_ doing to her; still, she was certain she was going to die.

Her limps were covered in blood, her very own blood, warm and heavy on her skin, as it flowed down, filling her a bath of red liqour. She didn't feel the pain in her several, countless bruises and cuts and swellings; her head felt light and heavy at the same time. The endless curses and hexes that the insane woman had tortured her with left her brain in the clouds, up, up there— _oh_ , did dying feel like that? Unimaginable pain, eternal suffering, until it ripped her out of her own skin, her own body? Was she already dead?

 _Oh._

What would happen to her poor parents?

There was no chance anymore that they would ever remember their only child and daughter again.

Maybe it was better this way.

They would never have to know that their little girl suffered in the most horrible way before leaving this world. They would never have to know that she didn't fight back; because she couldn't. Even if she wanted to, her body had long ceased to listen to her.

And what about Ron?

 _No_ —Harry would be infuriated by her death, wouldn't he? He would lose his favourite toy. What if he let out his anger on poor Ron? After all, there would no longer be a person he could keep his word for. Their deal, her deal with the devil, would become meaningless as she rotted in the demons's dungeons.

 _Oh, Harry. Oh, Harry..._

 _'You look absolutely beautiful, Hermione,' Harry said, his eyes calm, his lips unmoving. At his words, the dancing students around them became insignificant to her. The Yule Ball became insignificant. Viktor Krum became insignificant. No, the boy with the bright green eyes and the pitch-black hair was the only thing that mattered._

A door was thrown open.

' _NO_!' a female, high voice exclaimed as she was interrupted in her favourite activity; torturing.

A fast spell was enough to unlock her cell, revealing the horrifying sight of a sea of blood.

 _Her_ blood.

 _Her dirty, filthy Muggle blood..._

Silence.

For a minute, there was only silence.

'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU FUCKING BITCH!' someone yelled.

Her weak heart made a small jump, as she realised it was her so familiar captor.

A scream.

A scream of pain.

Similar to the ones that had escaped her own lips hours ago.

'I WILL _KILL_ YOU, YOU WHORE, I WILL _KILL_ YOU, YOU WILL SUFFER FOR _EVERYTHING_ YOU HAVE DONE TO HER!'

With her eyes half-closed, she whispered, ' _No_.'

Harry stopped, his hands around her tormentor's neck as he strangled her.

' _Don't._ '

He was breathing heavily, oh, so heavily. He had never liked commands.

'Don't kill... her. It will only cause suspicion. We cannot... harm your mission. _Our_ mission. She isn't... worth it. You, you are worth it, Harry—' she muttered, not knowing whether he was even listening to her. She didn't know, as she fell into unconsciousness, utter, welcoming darkness.


	11. Heart's Desire

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Heart's Desire**

The half-dead girl fell silent, her tired, lifeless eyes closed, as a last moan of pain left her dry lips. Her snow-white skin was covered in her own scarlet blood; the mere sight of it was similar to a detonator for a bomb, triggering his always present hatred to rise higher, leaving its limit far behind.

He let out a sharp breath, his emerald eyes watching the way the girl's head sank to her shoulder, resting against the ice-cold wall, and her words echoed in his head. His long fingers still around the woman's neck, he forced himself to look away from the unconscious girl. His gaze flickered over to the lunatic responsible for everything; the cousin and murderer of his late godfather.

'You've stepped too far out of line, Bella. This sheer act of envy and stupidity was a huge mistake; you won't remember why, but you're certainly going to suffer for it, you have my word on that,' he whispered against her face, his own once again a mask of callousness. 'And you know that I always keep my word, don't you?'

She hissed under his tight grip. 'Your obsession over that girl will be your downfall, blood traitor.'

'Then let's hope I will manage to take you down with me,' he growled, raising his wand after freeing one of his hands. ' _Obliviate_.'

The woman's dark, cat-like eyes were blank for a moment, her forhead easing as she started to relax under him. He clenched his hand to a fist, hitting her unconscious, and letting her fall to the dirty ground.

Immediately after the second his fist rammed into the Death Eater's face, he walked over to the other unconscious person in the dungeon. His black shoes weren't able to avoid the dark red liquor of life and death; it was everywhere. He kneeled down, his huge hands gripping the girl's head, his thumbs wiping away salty tears and warm blood on her face. She was ice-cold.

Harry eased the raven-coloured cloak off of himself, wrapping it carefully around her injured body. He tried to avoid any open wounds, but it seemed to be impossible; Bellatrix had done quite a job, he thought, vowing to give it back to her twice as bad, while he turned to said woman, raising her into the air, magically binding her to him, before he lifted Hermione into his arms.

The cell door was still open from his outburst, which he was grateful for, as he carried the brightest witch of her age out of the scene of the worst crime committed against him.

'What has she done to her?' A voice called out. 'Is Hermione alright? _Hermione?_ Can you hear me?'

Harry ceased for a brief second. 'This should have been _you_ , Weasley.'

Ron pressed his lips tightly together, his freckle-covered hands gripping around the iron lattice. 'I heard what she said, and I will never understand it. You are polluting and destroying her wonderfully pure soul, and yet she is still at your side. Loyal, patient, filled with faith. I hope you won't forget that in the end, Harry. Take good care of her.'

* * *

 _How long had they been away? Had Hermione's luck run out by now? Was it her who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or some other, insignificant member of the DA? No_ — _it couldn't be her... Not now, no... She had to be alive, she had to be safe and sound..._

 _As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed. The Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle. Did that mean the death had occurred there?_

 _Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts and was dismounting; Harry landed next to him seconds later and looked around._

 _The ramparts were deserted. The door to the spiral staircase that led back into the castle was closed. There was no sign of a struggle, of a fight to the death, of a body._

 _'What does it mean?' Harry asked Dumbledore, looking up at the green skull with its serpent's tongue glinting evilly above them. 'Is it the real Mark? Has someone definitely been_ — _Professor?'_

 _In the dim green glow from the Mark Harry saw Dumbledore clutching at his chest with his blackened hand._

 _'Go and wake Severus,' said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. 'Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.'_

 _'No, Dumbledore.'_

 _Dumbledore looked at him with strange eyes. 'Harry?'_

 _'No. I've had enough of you_ — _enough of you telling me what to do. It's my turn now; give me the Horcrux.'_

 _There was a sound interrupting him; still, neither looked away from each other's face._

 _'Harry... I feared...' the old man whispered, his blue eyes sad and tired. 'I can help you. You don't have to do whatever it is you are planning after my death.'_

 _'No, you can't, and you won't, Professor,' Harry said in a mocking tone._

 _The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: 'Expelliarmus!'_

 _Harry's body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. He could not understand how it had happened_ — _Expelliarmus was not a Freezing Charm_ —

 _Then, by the light of the Mark, he saw Dumbledore's wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood... Dumbledore had wordlessly immobilised Harry, and the second he had taken to perform the spell had cost him the chance of defending himself. What a fool, Harry thought. He had spoken up, somehow revealed what he truly was, what he truly wanted, and still the old man had tried to protect him. Was that some kind of show? Some kind of false representation of his affection for the boy? A failed attempt to convince the boy that there were people out there who cared for him and to bring him back onto the right path?_

 _Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, 'Good evening, Draco.'_

 _Malfoy stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that he and Dumbledore were alone. His eyes fell upon the second broom._

 _'Who else is here?'_

 _'A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?'_

 _Harry saw Malfoy's pale eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark._

 _'No,' he said. 'I've got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight.'_

 _'Well, well,' said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. 'Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?' Oh, the Headmaster had been betrayed by two of his students in one night_ — _was that why he gave up, why he didn't fight back, embracing his defeat?_

 _'Yeah,' said Malfoy, who was panting. 'Right under your nose and you never realised!'_

 _'Ingenious,' said Dumbledore. 'Yet... forgive me... where are they now? You seem unsupported.'_

 _'They met some of your guard. They're having a fight down below. They won't be long... I came on ahead. I_ — _I've got a job to do.'_

 _'Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,' said Dumbledore softly._

 _There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters' distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled. A sad, defeated smile._

 _'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.'_

 _'How do you know?' said Malfoy at once._

 _He seemed to realise how childish the words had sounded; Harry saw him flush in the Mark's greenish light._

 _'You don't know what I'm capable of,' said Malfoy more forcefully, 'you don't know what I've done!'_

 _'Oh, yes, I do,' said Dumbledore mildly. 'You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it...'_

 _'It has been in it!' said Malfoy vehemently. 'I've been working on it all year, and tonight_ —'

 _Somewhere in the depths of the castle below Harry heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder._

 _'Somebody is putting up a good fight,' said Dumbledore conversationally. 'But you were saying... yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible... how did you do it?'_

 _But Malfoy said nothing: he was still listening to whatever was happening below and seemed almost as paralysed as Harry was._

 _Oh, how much Harry desired to be the one saying the Curse, not that fool Malfoy._

* * *

When she had been a young child and a fever or snuff would catch her after another long night in the Grangers' garden while reading her favourite books out loud to her golden retriever Shepherd, her mother would make her the most delicious and hottest chicken soup she had ever tasted, and sing her younger self's favourite lullaby.

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleepy little baby._

 _When you wake, you'll have cake,_

 _And all the pretty little horses._

 _Black and bay, dapple and grey,_

 _Coach and six little horses,_

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleepy little baby._

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_

 _Go to sleepy little baby,_

 _When you wake, you'll have cake,_

 _And all the pretty little horses._

 _Way down yonder, down in the meadow,_

 _There's a poor wee little lamby._

 _The bees and the butterflies pickin' at its eyes,_

 _The poor wee thing cried for her mammy._

 _Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, Go to sleepy little baby._

 _When you wake, you'll have cake,_

 _And all the pretty little horses._

After that, her father would come into her little book-filled room, joining his wife and only child. He'd kiss his brown-eyed girl on the left cheek, the right one, her forehead, her small nose, and eventually, on her bushy hair. 'Dearest Hermione, sleep well, and in the morning we'll listen to the bird's songs.'

They had been quite soft, her parents. They were never able to haver another girl or boy, despite their wish for a big family. Yet, they had been kind and gentle and generous.

 _Oh_ , how she craved to see their all-so-familiar faces again, the encouraging smiles on their lips, telling her to keep fighting, to always keep fighting.

Fight the evil darkness, the paralyzing stillness, the utter emptiness; fight, live, _wake up_...

Her eyes fluttered open; she was half-afraid to stare back into the torturous, flickering light of her little cell, in the dungeon where she had been certain to lose her life, once and for all. But there was only the soft flames of white candles, to each of her sides and on the stone wall's iron holders.

It wasn't her cell. She recognised these warm chambers; and only then did she also notice the presence of another person.

He had kept her alive.

 _Of course._

Was she supposed to be thankful, she wondered? Would it be too bad to leave a world as horrible as this one? And yet, she couldn't help but take a very deep breath and move her fingertips, feeling the soft sheets underneath her.

She looked down at herself and froze for a second; those weren't the clothes she last remembered. Those weren't her in blood drained green shirt and blue jeans. She wasn't even wearing her former underwear, she realised, heat rising in her lying head. 'You—you have changed me,' she muttered, her voice rough and her throat hurting, dry as a desert.

'I am sorry, the next time I will remember that you prefer to spend your hours of sleep and recovery in filthy, bloody clothes rather than in clean robes. Please forgive my foolishness, dear,' he said calmly, not looking up from the book he was reading across from her, one of his hands resting on the leather armrest of his chair, the other one supporting his head.

'No—I—' she stuttered startled, confused by his sudden change in behaviour; he almost seemed disinterested and bored, quite the opposite from his outraged outburst and the savage nature from the last seconds she remembered him. ' _Er_ —thank you.' She blushed at the thought of him undressing and washing her.

'Don't thank me,' he replied shortly.

'Right,' she muttered, a familiar scent of creams and medicine rising up her nose as she shifted slightly. 'You have put ointments on my body?'

'Obviously,' was the answer. 'I figured you'd have enough of wands and magic for the time being. You shouldn't move; some of the injuries inflicted upon you are quite severe even though the ointments are coming from St. Mungos. Lay still. _Sleep_.'

'I can't.'

'Darling—'

' _No_ , I'm serious, Harry, I _can't_ ,' she emphasized, looking away from the dark-haired man who hadn't meet her eyes yet.

'Why not?' he said after a short while, closing the book and putting it back onto a table next to him.

For the first time since weeks, their eyes locked; she felt goosebumps on her arms as he stared down at her with his typical analysing gaze. 'Are you afraid?' he added.

She pressed her lips firmly together, preparing herself for a confession. 'I—I don't want to fall asleep; when I do, I am vulnerable. I don't want to be vulnerable anymore.' _Not to that Lestrange lunatic_ , she added in her thoughts.

He made the impression of knowing what she was thinking. 'Mh,' he muttered, deep in thought. 'Shall I tell you a secret of my own as well, Hermione?'

His voice was a mere whisper when he said her name, and yet he was leaning down towards her lying position.

'I am experiencing hallucinations. I see things that don't exist, things that tear my sanity away from me. Solid objects liquefying, pulling me into the depth of oceans. Humans and animals painted in old pictures staring and smiling at me, seducing me into coming closer. The room I am standing in narrowing and decreasing until I am pressed into utter darkness, emptiness, and coldness. Moreover, I am sleepwalking. I don't even remember going to sleep, but at night, I am walking around in the dark forests. I wander around our grounds until I wake up. I am completely defenceless at that time, ready for any enemies and nemesis to attack me. And, to reach the climax, I am experiencing time jumps. One minute I am working at my desk in my chambers, and the next second I am talking with my colleagues over a nice dinner without knowing how and when I got there. I look at my watch; it's 7 o'clock in the morning. When I throw another glance at it, ten hours have passed and I feel like only a minute went by.'

She stared into those bright green eyes of his; for once, she was certain he was telling the truth. A dangerous, unhealthy truth—

'Do you feel unstable?' she whispered silently, overwhelmed by the honesty he was gifting her with.

A smirk crept onto his face. 'I _am_ unstable, my dear.'

Hermione didn't know what caused her to dare it, and still she raised one of her pale hands and reached out for him. To her surprise, he leaned into her movement; his cheek touching the girl's hand, the dark smile still on his face. 'What do you think you are doing, sweetheart?'

No—it was her turn to ask questions; questions that she needed an answer for. 'What to you _really_ want, Harry? What is your true desire?'

'My true desire?' he repeated, his voice a mere whisper of rough and deep words. 'I crave to sit on Voldemort's throne. I covet to rule over the wizarding world. And, I lust for you, Hermione Granger, for you to be on my side when I am crowned King of Magic.'

 _King of Magic._

Quickly, she retired her hand from his cool face, the nerves at her fingers tickling due to the hasty movement over the man's black stubbles.

He grinned.

'You—you want to continue what that bastard started? You want to kill Muggle-borns—innocent people, people like _me_?' she muttered, unconsciously moving away from her saviour and destroyer.

The dark smirk still on his lips, his brows furrowed. 'Well, I don't really care about the disposal of Muggle-born wizards and witches; I may be a murderer in your eyes, my dear Hermione, but I'm certainly not as foolish as to begin another world-wide holocaust. You must know, Voldemort is incredibly intelligent, but there is definitely a major aspect that he is not considering; if he kills Muggle-borns and Muggles, who is left to rule over? I know him better than he thinks I do, and I am confident to say that he absolutely only cares about power and control, not the honour of so-called true-born magicians, as his narrow-minded followers believe. That is, and will be, his great mistake.'

Hermione sat up, suddenly not wishing to be in a lying position anymore, inferior to him.

He sighed, resting his distinctive jaw on his clenched fist as he watched Hermione's movements. 'Tell me, who would you prefer? Voldemort or me?'

'That's as if you're asking me whether I'd prefer Stalin or Hitler! There's no good answer, no better choice!'

'Why not?' he replied. 'You've seen men like Fudge ruling over the British Magic Society—you've witnessed Umbridge at first hand. How are any of these politicians better than me?'

She glared at him, her hands removing the blanket over her body. 'And you think you can just control the Death Eaters and their beliefs after you have overthrown Voldemort? Do you really believe that you can control someone as devoted to that terrorist as Bellatrix Lestrange?'

Harry cocked his head, smiling. 'Who says that Bella will be alive to witness my reign? Who says any of the Death Eaters will be alive, or let's say, capable of disobeying me and my commands?' he said. ' _No_ , Hermione. It will be a whole new regime. A different kind of order and system, you'll see. In the past, I despised it when I was forced into the role of a leader—but it had been Dumbledore or another Order member to do so. They knew what I was capable of. Voldemort himself knows it—that's one of the reasons why I was apointed his right hand, next to his devoted lieutenant Bella, of course. He is aware of her complete obsession and utter loyalty towards him, as well as of my strength in making the right choices at the right time. Wasn't it because of me that Voldemort wasn't able to obtain the Philosopher's Stone? Wasn't it because of me that Sirius Black was able to escape the sentence of the Dementor's Kiss? Wasn't it because of me that Dolores Umbridge was put to justice? And because of you, too, Hermione, surely. That's why I want you to sit by my side. That's why I want you to be Queen, my queen.'

'What if I decline that title? What if I refuse that position? What will you do to me?' she retorted silently.

He ignored her daring provocation. 'You'll have power like never before, Hermione. And I am certainly not speaking of the power corrupted politicians are craving. You will have the power to reunite with your parents—and yes, I know where they are and what you have done to them to prevent me from getting close to them. I know a lot, Hermione, you shall never forget that,' he winked as her heart stopped for a second. _They weren't threatened by him?_ 'You will have the power to start your campagne of freeing suppressed magical creatures and fighting for equality between all kinds of wizards and witches. You will have the power to do whatever you wish, whatever you feel in the mood for. I will grant you _everything,_ sweetling,' he growled darkly.

Suddenly, his hands were holding her head, touching each of her cheeks and leaving a burning sensation behind. He was close; closer than he had ever been, his breath hot against her nose, tickling her delicate pale skin. 'Everything,' he said again, louder, but still as deep as before; before she realised what he was up to, his lips were crushing against her own. Her body was electrifying, magically bound to him, like two magnets from different poles. It was soft at first, until she couldn't help but return his burning, untamable passion, giving him back the bitter sweet sin they were committing. One of his warm hands wandered down her bare arm, leaving goosebumbs behind, while her own traveled up, burying itself in his already messy hair. Her mouth fell open, and so did his, as he pulled her closer to him than she already was.

Neither one of them knew how exactly it happened, but suddenly his black coat and shirt as well as the robe he had put her on were joined on the floor, next to the flickering flames in the fireplace, a messy nest of their scents.

Harry laid her down, bending over the girl's body underneath him. He kissed her collarbone, leaving hot and wet spots behind as he traveled up her neck, causing her to let out a moan. Their lips met again, desperately clinging onto each other.

'Harry,' she whispered into his mouth, interrupting their fierce and wild kiss.

Their eyes found each other, a different kind of darkness staring back at her; he looked at her with an ardent gaze, a questioning sign behind it, asking her for consent. She was seconds away from nodding, from giving into it, when a knock on his chambers' doors erupted.

'My lord!' an unfamiliar voice called out. 'There is an urgent meeting! The Dark Lord wishes for everyone's presence, yours as his right hand included!'

The atmosphere changed; suddenly, she comprehended what they were doing, what they were about to do, and where they were.

He immediately let go of her, his hands brushing against her nude and still wounded stomach for a brief moment before he retreated. Seconds later, the black coat and shirt she had ripped off of him were covering his naked chest again; still, he didn't take the trouble of bringing his jet black, untidy hair back into order. She was certain he did it on purpose, saving evidence of their committed act.

'Tell Voldemort I will join his side in a second,' he said loudly and clearly, any hint of lust gone. Steps signalised the leaving of the fellow Death Eater.

Harry grabbed for his wand, and for her plain robe before he threw it into her open arms. 'Aren't you coming, my dear?' he asked, looking back at her with a winning smirk.

Which she couldn't deny; after all, he _had_ won.

* * *

He was sitting to his leader's right side, the other one being taken by a grinning Bellatrix Lestrange whose dark, thin curls fell into her white face, her black eyes huge and hungry, starving, the only nourishment for her power, control, and success. Their Lord's mimics were not overwhelmed by gratification and delight, still, he welcomed his followers's and lieutenants's untamable joyous screams and obvious satisfaction with his lip-less smile and opened, spider-like hands. 'My dear friends, my beloved warriors. I, the Dark Lord, am deeply pleased to confirm you all of my current, and, of course, future reign over the wizarding world. With the British Ministry und Magic Society under my control, our followers in the United States of America informed me of the successful infiltration and our growing influence in the western world of Earth. Due to my power, and credit also goes to you, my friends, our goal of the disposal of Mudbloods and the slavery of Muggles is in bright light. There will be no one else to rule but the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.'

With Voldemort's last word said, Bellatrix raised her goblet filled with Elf-made wine, and exclaimed loudly, 'To the ruler of Magic! To the protector of pureblood wizards and witches! _To the Dark Lord!_ '

Hundreds, thousands of golden and silvery cups were held into the chandeliers's bright light, the vast hall singing the exact same words, ' _To the Dark Lord!_ '

And as her brown eyes moved from the yelling, drinking and laughing crowd, and over to Voldemort and his satisfied expression as his people sang songs only for him, the burning of sharp eyes forced her to direct her attention to the leader's right hand.

His face was half hidden in dark shadows and his black coat's collar; and still, from underneath his untidy raven-coloured hair, a bright green pair of observant eyes stabbed through her as a slow smirk crept onto his lips.

Their eyes infinitely locked with each other, and his voice echoed through her mind; _My true desire? I crave to sit on Voldemort's throne. I covet to rule over the wizarding world. And, I lust for you, Hermione Granger, for you to be on my side when I am crowned King of Magic._

The feast was opened; men and women laughed and celebrated their victory as music errupted from behind the filled tables, house-elves playing instruments in a rapid, light tone. Hermione saw their bandaged hands, surely burns due to the sudden declaration of a celebration and therefore the need of the fast making of delicious food and wine; of course they were still forced to work, to make sure their masters were satisfied with their unworthy luxury.

Suddenly, Harry's offer sounded better and more seductive with the elves' obvious inequality.

His eyes had left hers already, as he listened to a young boy who spoke into the man's ears; was this boy one of Harry's own spies, his own little birds who sang songs of secrets into his waiting ears?

A victorious smile crept onto his face, and somehow she was certain it had nothing to do with Voldemort's celebrations.

The nameless boy retreated, bowing to Harry before leaving the huge salon, surely going to dig for further lies and secrets and rumors.

Harry stood up; he leaned down to Voldemort and whispered something into his ear, just the way the boy had done it for him seconds ago. Hermione noticed a smile on Voldemort's snake-like face, similar to Harry's, while Bellatrix watched the both of them with jealous eyes as she was left out. The oldest Black sister's eyes suddenly met Hermione's brown ones; she felt a cold stab into her heart as she was reminded of the cruelty and violence inflicted upon herself by that very woman who had no memory of her own actions.

For the first time in her young life, Hermione desired a bloody vengeance, justice for everything that awful woman had done...

Without having noticed it, he had wandered over to her. She felt his hot breath against her ear, just the way she had when he had kissed her neck—

'I have good news for us, my love,' he muttered, ignoring Bellatrix's glare. 'Another mission is waiting. Are you up for a little adventure?'

Invisible to anyone's traveling eyes, one of his warm hands placed itself on her waist.


	12. Haunted

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

 **A/N:** Thank you all for your reviews on the recent updates! It honestly encourages me to write more, better and faster(which I probably still fail at, sorry)!

I'm glad that you (hopefully) like where this story is going—even though (or especially because) this is going somewhere very dark and unusual, I believe.

This chapter basically deals with Harry's mental health, and contains a lot of H/Hr moments. Moments that you will probably (or hopefully) like and appreciate.

The following chapter will be about the hunt for their next horcrux and new problems that this odd pair will have to face.

Enjoy the read, and maybe you will grant me with a **review**?

 _ER_

* * *

'An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.'  
 _― Mahatma Gandhi_

'Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.'  
 _― Walter Scott, The Heart of Mid-Lothian_

'The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.'  
 _― Rick Riordan, The Last Olympian_

'I desire to be with you. I miss you. I feel lonely when I can't see you. I am obsessed with you, fascinated by you, infatuated with you. I hunger for your taste, your smell, the feel of your soul touching mine.'  
― _Jack Llawayllynn, Indulgence_

'Is it love, obsession, infatuation? You don't know. You think of a strange and beautiful word you read about once, Limerance, a psychological term, meaning an obsessive love, a state that's almost like a drug. Need like a wolf paces the perimeter of your world, back and forth, back and forth, never letting up. ...You're appalled by the new appetites within you, kicking their feet and clawing to get out.'  
― _Nikki Gemmell_

'When you are mad, mad like this, you don't know it. Reality is what you see. When what you see shifts, departing from anyone else's reality, it's still reality to you.'  
― _Marya Hornbacher, Madness: A Bipolar Life_

 **Chapter 12: Haunted**

The still injured girl was about to stand up, following the young man's warm, discreet touch on her waist, when her soft brown eyes met the burning stare of a deep, scarlet colour. She froze in her position, her body declining any further movements, keeping her sitting on the old chair. Harry noticed her sudden rigidity immediately; he followed her stiff glance, and realized that his leader was slowly walking towards the two of them.

His snow-white hands folded and a lip-less smile formed on his face, he stopped next to Harry and across from Hermione. His movements were pure elegance and those of a powerful force such as the head of an influential and extremist group like the Death Eaters. She couldn't help but think that Voldemort and the now deceased Dumbledore were in so many ways similar to each other.

'Harry, my dear boy, do us the favor and incredible honour as to open our first, last and single dance for our tonight's celebrations. You, as my right hand and one of the Death Eaters' most competent and trustworthy soldiers, are certainly the proper choice for this matter, you agree, don't you?'

Harry stared at him, the hint of a returning smirk on his lips and an indefinable expression in his bright green eyes. His former light grip on her waistline was slowly tightening; a sure sign of danger and threat. Was Voldemort's friendly and quiet looking expression just the calm before the storm?

'Actually, I intended—'

'You see, Harry, it would be very rude to decline now, my friend,' Voldemort whispered almost affectionately and softly, nevertheless with the hint of a threat, a dangerous warning in his high voice. 'Your new target can surely wait a little longer. I am certain you understand that, don't you?'

'Of course,' replied Harry's deep voice. A confident grin had replaced his attempted gentle smile.

'Wonderful, wonderful. Perhaps with Bella—'

'Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to lend me your hand in this honour?' Harry turned to Hermione, interfering his master with a twisted expression; she sensed his lust for playing with Voldemort's boundaries of composure. He was unbelievable reckless and way too adventurous.

The creature's red eyes twinkled for a second dangerously, still, he managed to stay successfully calm.

It was thrilling to her, the idea of refusing to obey the manipulative terrorist's orders and wishes; something people rarely or never even dared to attempt. It gave her some sense of indeed foolish, but also life-reawakening rebellion. Something to hold onto, something to believe in, something to put into motion with her thorough and deliberate certainty.

Smiling brightly, Hermione's delicate fingers slid into his extended palm. To her very own surprise, she couldn't help but notice the outgoing warmth and softness of his hand. 'It would be my pleasure, Harry.'

Returning her cordial and beaming delivery, his grip around her knockles tightened as he pulled her up to stand with him. They went past the organization's leader, pretending to be ignorant to his ice-cold gaze and deeply feigned smile, and caused the mentioned one's followers to divide in the middle, allowing the pair to pass them in order to reach the direct centre of the well-furnished salon.

Harry made a quick, sharp movement with his right wrist, the hand that was guiding Hermione in her careful mobility; immediately, the girl was standing quite close to him. Her beating chest was only invisible inches away, their warm noses almost brushing against each other. He could feel her sharp, and yet somehow controlled breath on his half-parted lips; a sudden, highly well-known smell crawled up into his sensitive nose. It was not the one of some expensive perfume—it was natural, soft and fresh, familar and soothing, the very odor of her mere skin, her bushy brown hair, her rosy lips—he adored it, the way she was feeling and smelling and moving against him.

Hermione was looking at him with a mixture of uncertainty and assurance, a resistant hybridization he had grown quite used to. It was originated in her defiance in giving into him and his twisted, luring soul; but just as much as in her irrevocable devotion and eternally present faith in him.

Her eyebrows scrunched slightly as if she was trying to gauge and calculate the coming behaviour of his that he himself was unsure of; it was improvisation, pure and utter improvisation, a teasing act of scratching the boundaries to his well-chained humanity.

In that moment, he wanted nothing, not a single, tiny thing, as much as causing the girl in his arms to crack a natural and real smile, to show him that she was still the pure and steady soul he had found himself intrigued with many years ago, despite his embittered cruelty and heartlessness.

Harry only faintly realized the sudden, smooth appearance of classical music playing in the background, inviting them to begin their display of elegance. He reached up, placing one of his hands on the small of her back, the other one still holding her left hand. Her right one travelled higher to grab his firm shoulder, their eyes infinitely locked, never leaving the other's permanent stare.

He began to move, slowly and elegantly, in a pliable way she had never witnessed him to act in before. She followed him, of course, somewhat hesitantly and yet full of need.

The man gifted his dancing partner with a flirtatious, devilish smirk, a different one of his many variants; it was still showing his warped intentions and mind, but also a security of his protectiveness over her, which she was grateful for, in that moment.

Harry twirled her, spinning her around; supposedly forsaken memories of dancing princes and princesses in old movies and books flowed through her brain. It was making her feel good, she soon realized, somewhat startled.

The soft corners of her mouth soon started to lift, her brown eyes glowing truly in the burning chandeliers' lights and flames.

He did it _again_ , and _again_ , and _again_.

All until she laughed, finally, her cheek muscles almost aching at the sudden emotional reaction she hadn't used in a long time. Hermione was shooting him the sight of something truly beautiful, a smile, her real smile, the one he had last tickled onto her face when they had still went to school together.

It was undeniable, at that second; he had truthfully and actually fallen in love with the laughing girl in his arms—an act he had forbidden himself to do, once upon a time, a dangerous, tempting response to her brilliant mind and innocent soul. And yet, it had happened, completely out of his control and area of responsibility.

His heart constricted and his stomach leaped; his inners were behaving and reacting to her glowing eyes in a way he considered foolish and groundless; a typical thing for hormonal teenagers, nothing more. Something far below his league.

Harry twisted her behind him, one last time, and she leaned in to him, grinning while her rosy lips slowly parted unconsciously. Her cheeks were flushed, her bushy hair a little loose.

He had never found her more beautiful.

He pulled her to him after that, even closer than before, their bodies slowly beginning to seal into each other. Now, both of his hands were moving to her delicate waist, pressing them together. His gaze grew intense, a chaos of darkness and beauty, as he stared at her and moved to close the left distance between their lips.

'Thank you very much, my dear children, that was a wonderful performance,' a high, uncomfortable voice erupted right next to the pair. Their eyes still locked, the memory of their intended act chiseled into both of their minds, their hands left each other's bodies as they stepped away. Harry's green glance reluctantly found the one of his master; the way Voldemort was smiling at them was not well liked by him. 'It is so very touching to witness your obvious affection for the girl, Harry. Perhaps we could talk about it, just the three of us, over a nice dinner, I wonder? After you've dealt with that business concerning the half-giant breed, of course.'

Harry didn't answer, and Voldemort didn't expect him to.

* * *

 _Run and hide, it's gonna be bad tonight_  
 _Cause here comes your devil side_  
 _It's gonna ruin me_  
 _It's almost like slow motion suicide_  
 _Watching your devil side get between you and me_

 _So tell me what I need to do_  
 _To get myself away from you_  
 _To keep myself from going down_  
 _All the way down with you_

 _Still I want you, but not for your devil side_  
 _Not for your haunted life_  
 _Just for you_  
 _So tell me why I deal with your devil side_  
 _I deal with your dangerous mind_  
 _But never with you_  
 _Who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Who's gonna save you?_

 _I can't lie but I do miss those times_  
 _We were on the high_  
 _I thought it would never end_  
 _But you and I have come from the same long line_  
 _Good kids with a devil side_  
 _Just going around again_

 _So tell me what I need to do_  
 _To get myself away from you_  
 _To keep myself from going down_  
 _All the way down with you_  
 _All the way down with you_

 _I want you, but not for your devil side_  
 _Not for your haunted life_  
 _Just for you (just for you)_  
 _So tell me why it's always your devil side_  
 _It's always your dangerous mind_  
 _It's never you_  
 _So who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Who's gonna save you?_

 _So tell me what I need to know_  
 _To make you want to change it all_  
 _To keep myself from going down_  
 _All the way down with you_  
 _All the way down with you_

 _I want you, but not for your devil side_  
 _Not for your haunted life_  
 _Just for you_  
 _So tell me why I deal with your devil side_  
 _I deal with your dangerous mind_  
 _Never with you_  
 _Who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Who's gonna save you?_  
 _Who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Who's gonna save you?_

 _Ooh oh_  
 _Who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Who's gonna save you now?_  
 _Without going down?_

― Foxes, Devil Side

* * *

'Let go of me!' Hermione shouted angrily and bitterly, and _oh_ , how could she have been so blind, knowing what he had done and was capable of, and still loved him? 'Let go of me, you fucking bastard! You damned traitor! Don't you listen? LET GO OF ME!'

But instead, the firm grip around her bare wrist only tightened as he led her through dark corridors and empty floors, not saying a single word. She couldn't see his face; his quick steps were always ahead of her own. It was oddly silent; everyone else was still at the feast, dancing with the bodies of murderers, laughing at fellow killers' jokes and stories, drinking the wine made by slaves and servants.

They reached the man's chamber's doors, huge and black. Wordlessly, Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at the golden doorknob. The words he whispered were incomprehensible, a sly and cunning language foreign to her—Parseltongue, certainly.

'Come on in, my dear,' he growled suddenly, pushing the doors open with a slight kick.

'I'm not your dear!' she muttered with a frown, stumbling into the chambers.

The grand room resembled her memory of it; still as well-furnished and dark as it was when she had woken up there, heavily injured and her head full of evil ideas on how to take revenge on the woman responsible for so much misery and cruelty. She felt ashamed at the thought of it; she was better than that, better than Bellatrix Lestrange, _wasn't she?_

Hermione's tired brown eyes fell on the huge, untidy looking bed—short images flashed through her mind; a dark-haired figure leaning over a pale woman, clothes spread on the floor right next to the fireplace, kisses and moans.

Hermione blushed, immediately focusing her attention on something else.

'So that was what that boy had whispered into your damned ears? Not only of our next mission—your friends have found Hagrid, haven't they?'

She shuddered at the reminder of where Harry's intentions also lay; the destruction and disposal of his past, of all these brave, kind people that had formed an alliance in order to vanquish the Dark Lord.

'You can't kill him. Hagrid's not... like... _the others_. He's half-giant; his skin is much tougher than that of a human being. And don't expect me to just let you leave and murder him! He is _my_ friend! And he was yours, too! The person who rescued you out of the ruins of your family's house! Harry, please, I know why you're doing this, all of this, I _really_ do, alright? But don't, just _don't_ —'

Abruptly, Hermione noticed the unusual taciturnity of the silent, unmoving figure behind her. Arms still crossed over her raising chest, she turned around, her brows furrowed in confusion and surprise.

Hermione stared down at the man she was currently referring to as one of the world's most dangerous villains. His never-ending desire for vengeance had filled the once innocent boy with pure and absolute hatred, turning him into a ruthless and bloodthirsty hunter.

Now, said predator made the impression of a completely desperate boy. His long, pale arms were winded around his untidy tuft, while he shook and sweated terribly. She was able to catch a glimpse on his usual emerald green eyes; she hesitated for a moment.

Utter torment, insanity and despair was staring back at her.

'Harry? What is wrong with you? Harry, can you hear me?' Hermione felt her heart skip a beat as her trembling hand slowly reached out for the sitting man.

Instead of welcoming her slow, soft approach, he shrank back in hasty movements, his breath quick and hysterical. ' _No_!'

'Harry! _Please_! Tell me what is wrong with you, so I can help you!' Salty, hot ears started to fill her widened eyes; the desperate helplessness she was experiencing almost paralyzed her to the ground.

She attempted to touch him again, but his reaction was worse than before, yelling and swearing terribly, he retreated even further away from the girl, his eyes blank, huge, and filled with dark sorrow.

'No, don't touch me! DON'T YOU DARE COME ANY NEARER TO ME!' he screamed, kicking out at her. ' _NO!_ I will _never_ let you touch me again! STAY _AWAY_ FROM ME, YOU FREAKING SON OF A BITCH!'

Words spoken by the very person at her feet suddenly echoed through her head.

 _I am experiencing hallucinations. I see things that don't exist, things that tear my sanity away from me..._

Her frozen body started to relax as she began to realize and comprehend what was happening to him. Confidentially, she stepped closer to him, all until she was standing right next to him. Hermione kneeled down, careful and not too fast, making sure she made not the impression of a possible threat to his safety. She gently placed her hands on his vibrating shoulders; he shuddered, but didn't move away.

' _No_ , please—'

'Harry...' she whispered affectionately. 'Harry Potter, everything is alright. Nobody is going to touch you, nobody is going to harm you. There's no one here, no one but you, and me, Hermione, Hermione Granger. Harry, close your eyes. Close your eyes.'

His breath was irregular as he obeyed, his eyelids pressing together.

'Harry, do you remember in our third year at Hogwarts, when we used my Time Turner to go back into the past and safe Sirius from a terrible fate? Can you recall the completely wild flight on Buckbeak's back? I was so scared, so unbearably scared to be up there in the air with nothing to prevent me from falling. But there was you, too. You were laughing loudly, delighted at the prospect of your godfather's freedom and in your personal element; flying. You have always been an excellent, brilliant flyer. The way you moved through the cold wind like a disengaged bird on its hunt; I was so proud of you, constantly. And then, when I realized that I was with you, the boy born to fly, I felt better and safer. And I laughed, too, as I held onto you. I was so happy, just like you were. Do you remember, Harry?'

His eyes still closed, Harry nodded shortly. ' _I_... _remember_...'

Hermione smiled at this, her hands placing themselves on his cold cheeks, lifting his head to meet her gaze.

When his eyes flickered back open and his body shifted slightly, she noticed the glittering sparkle of green stones on his chest.

But it was too late; the second he found her glance, his hands moved to grip the girl's neck, squeezing it firmly, his emerald eyes twinkling of corrupted darkness.

'H—Harry!' she only managed to choke, her back crashing to cold floor as he pressed himself on her, strangling the life out of her.

'No... I am _not_ weak... _No!_ He should have suffered more!' he muttered angrily. 'I should have cut off his fat limbs and genitals while he was still breathing! _NO!_ That _fucking_ pervert—I want to hurt him! Again! I want to kill Vernon Dursley again! For _everything_ he has put me through!'

'H—Harry,' she whispered, hardly comprehensible. Her gaze flickered to the locket hanging around the man's neck, dangling before her eyes as her head started to feel lighter. 'It's... the locket...'

Her hands, weak but determined, reached up, gripping the piece of jewellery and ripping it off of him.

His tight hold around her now swollen throat loosened, his hands removing themselves as he fully began to realize his actions.

Harry threw himself back, away from the girl that had been close to death; at his own hands. The person he had sworn to protect at every cost...

He stared at her, just as she stared at him, unconsciously massaging her red neck. He seized for his wand, pointing it at Hermione; she didn't even flinch. ' _Anapneo_.'

Her throat was cleared, her swelling and bruising beginning to heal.

'Th—Thank you,' she whispered, her voice still harsh and rough.

'Forgive me,' he said silently, looking at his huge hands. 'I... I was not myself.'

'I know. It was the horcrux; the locket. There's something insanely wrong with it. You shouldn't wear it any longer,' she said with a shrug, mimicking him as he pulled himself up to stand properly.

He fell silent, turning away from her, obviously infuriated by his shown vulnerability and weakness. Either he didn't notice the tears streaming down her face, or he simply did not care.

'Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you ever tell me?'

'Tell you _what_ , exactly?' he snapped, a growl in his voice as he stepped in front of the window.

Her hands reached out for him, but fell down in the middle of their brief movements. 'That your awful, horrible, loathsome uncle touched you.'

He laughed. 'Oh, Hermione, everyone was aware of the fact that I received some nasty beats at that Muggle's house—I was just too magically handsome for them, I guess.' He turned around again and smirked at her.

Hermione didn't return his grin. 'No. That's... that's not what I meant. Your uncle... he sexually abused you, didn't he? Please, Harry, _tell_ me,' she sobbed, forcing these painful words out of her mouth, almost spitting them at him.

And, of course, at that, he was wearing his infamous mask of callousness and composure once again; still, there was definitely some kind of innocent confusion behind his bright green eyes. His tongue ran over his lower lip, as he struggled with himself. 'I... _wasn't_... he didn't...' and yet, he didn't seem to be convinced by his own words—he looked like he got enlightened, reminded of something that was hidden in the depth of his memory. For a second, childlike pain shadowed across his now so young looking face.

Harry turned away again, not saying a single word.

Hermione chose to never forgive herself for not knowing, for not noticing, and not being able to help.

'It's called speechless terror,' she muttered eventually, breaking the silence that had stretched itself over them.

'I don't care what it's called.'

'Victims are often not capable of expressing what they feel or think at the reminder of the event; they are unable to describe it with words.'

'I'm _not_ a victim!' Harry yelled at that, facing Hermione once again, his face white with fury.

They watched each other—Hermione shocked and devastated by the terrible revealed secrets of his past that she hadn't been aware of, and Harry angered by his unstable mind that had suppressed the worst traumatic experience of his childhood.

He was looking for something to cling onto, something he could hold in his hands, something utterly real which was definitely not one of his many hallucinations; he longed forward with hasty, rough movements, grabbing the girl's head and pressing a passionate and desperate kiss on her half-parted lips, his huge hands burying themselves in her loose brown hair. He pushed her against the wall, still kissing her, his body crashing into hers.

'You are mine, Hermione. _Only_ mine. My sanity. My true desire. My everything,' he muttered darkly, interrupting their fierce embrace.

'What about your throne? What about you being king, King of Magic? Wasn't that your true desire?' she retorted, breathing into his extremely close face.

'Fuck them all,' Harry growled angrily. 'Fuck Voldemort. Fuck the Dark Side. Fuck the Light Side. I only need you, my love, right now.'

His hands wandered down to both of her sides, placing themselves on her waist. His gaze was surprisingly strong, considering what he just went through; but perhaps it was exactly because of that. He was looking for steadiness, stability in a mist full of secrets, traumas, and hallucinations.

She remembered his helplessness a few minutes ago, and suddenly, she didn't want to grant him anything but hours of salvation.

 _I won't touch you unless you ask me to._

Hermione placed her hands on his neck, pulling him down to her, her lips brushing his ear. 'I want you to touch me, Harry. Please.'

Without wasting any further second, he kissed her again, harder and more savage than before. Hermione was practically starting to melt into him, his tongue tracing the length of her lower lip, asking for entrance which she immediately granted him. His hands wandered down to lift her up, before he slowly walked over to his already messy bed and caused the both of them to sink into the soft mattresses.

She moaned into his mouth while she lifted one of her hands to his strong, warm chest, running her fingers down his black shirt, wanting to touch as much of him as possible. She gripped the expensive material, ripping it off.

Seconds later she did something she would have never imagined herself to even attempt, as her hand travelled downwards and seized his manhood; he groaled deeply into their kiss, and she found herself lost in her growing feel of heat.

Harry's hands began to undress her, quickly ripping the robe's material and easing it off her body; he did it with so much determination and control, that she felt ashamed for her fumbling movements. Hermione pushed the thought away, feeling silly, and joined him in their mutual undressing act, still too thrilled to be steady.

Her fingers ran across his erection before she removed the last item of clothing between them, his boxers, throwing them onto the carpet next to the flickering chimney; his eyes found hers, dark and intense and warm.

He pressed her deeper into the mattress, holding her down by her arms, gently but firmly and determined. His hands traced her forearms, her biceps, all until they found something new. Steadying himself with one hand, the other one cupped her breast; the weight and softness was exquisite, delicate against his bare skin. His thump ran across her tightening nipple, his lips kissing and bruising her jawline and neck; then, he bit into her skin, like the sly serpent that he had become, causing her to cry out in pain and pleasure.

He descended, licking the skin over her collarbone in a teasing and soothing way, until he wandered further south, kissing her naked stomach, all while still stroking her breasts. A horrible, sweet tension was built in the pit of her stomach, increasing and tightening as he travelled downwards...

She couldn't help but to cry out as his tongue ran right across her folds, licking her agonisingly slowly, a winning smirk on his face. Blushing with bubbling heat, she sighed as he began to push his tongue deeper inside of her, while his hands widened and spread her legs, digging themselves in her tighs as he sunk deeper and deeper. She bit into her own hands in order to prevent herself from luring all these loathsome, dark-clothed people to his chambers; his tongue ran along her lips, and _oh_ , against her clit—she moaned into her fist, enjoying the wave of heat and pleasure and salvation.

He was breathing heavily, kneeling between her open legs, his chest heaving and sweating, his hair a mess of dark curls.

Softly, he climbed over her legs and positioned himself to be directly on top of her. Their eyes locked, soft brown staring into bright green, a unit of mutual desire. Gently, he pushed into her, groaning together. He pressed his head into her warm neck, kissing her as he rocked his hips into gentle, consuming thrusts, each time increasing in speed and depth. Their bodies were pressing and rubbing against each other, a complete new sensation to her; and yet, she enjoyed every single second of it.

He muttered soft, dark words into her ear, words that she later couldn't quite remember, and still it was enough for her to wind her shaking arms around his back, digging her nails into his skin, and leaving red scratches behind.

Harry removed his face from her neck and longed forward to close the distance between their mouths, kissing her deeply and passionately, surely causing bruises and swellings. He thrust deeper and harder into her body, going faster and burying himself inside of her rough. They were hot, and wet, and throbbing against each other; she was certain that she was close, and somehow, she knew that he was, too.

Once again overcome with bittersweet pleasure, she screamed out, overwhelmed by the sensual and ecstatic feelings flooding through her mind and body. He joined her, sighing her name with a deep groan, swearing and cursing.

 _They had ultimately fallen._

* * *

 _I fear the fever_  
 _Deep in my bones_  
 _It runs electric_  
 _It draws me home_  
 _It knows the weakness_  
 _Deep in my soul_  
 _It keeps me hostage_  
 _I'm never alone_

 _Maybe you should go?_  
 _Baby can't control_  
 _Maybe you should go?_  
 _Baby can't control_

 _It wants to kill you_  
 _It wants to tear you apart_  
 _It wants to thrill you_  
 _This vengeful love that I've got_  
 _Wants to consume you_  
 _Then spit you out_  
 _I fear the fever, fear the fever_  
 _Can you feel it now?_

 _I fear the fire_  
 _Burning below_  
 _Its gonna to trick you_  
 _Swallow you whole_

 _Maybe you should go?_  
 _Baby can't control_

 _It wants to kill you_  
 _It wants to tear you apart_  
 _It wants to thrill you_  
 _This vengeful love that I've got_  
 _Wants to consume you_  
 _Then spit you out_  
 _I fear the fever, fear the fever_  
 _Can you feel it now?_

 _You know you're not safe here_  
 _I'll only bring you down_  
 _Can't help you disappear_  
 _My love, it's too late now_  
 _You know you're not safe here_  
 _I'll only bring you down_  
 _The end is almost near_  
 _My love, it's too late now_

 _It wants to kill you_  
 _It wants to tear you apart_  
 _It wants to thrill you_  
 _This vengeful love that I've got_  
 _Wants to consume you_  
 _Then spit you out_  
 _I fear the fever, fear the fever_  
 _Can you feel it now?_  
 _It wants to kill you_  
 _It wants to tear you apart_  
 _It wants to thrill you_  
 _This vengeful love that I've got_  
 _Wants to consume you_  
 _Then spit you out_

 _I fear the fever, fear the fever_  
 _Can you feel it now?_

 _(You know you're not safe here)_  
 _(I'll only bring you down)_

― Digital Daggers, Fear the Fever

* * *

'I have always been interested in psychology; before I got my Hogwarts letter, I wanted to be become a therapist.'

'How lucky for me. Tell me, doctor, do you have a diagnosis for me? Preliminary investigation-ish?'

He was smirking sarcastically, sitting at his desk and leaning over several parchments filled with drawings and speculations of further horcruxes. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and dark trousers; she, on the other hand, hadn't taken the trouble to dress herself again. She was lying in his warm bed, covered in the expensive blankets and nestled in multiple pillows, watching him as he went through his notes.

'We've talked about speechless terror. And I'm pretty sure you're also having bond disorders; which is why you killed so many people of your past and why you are pushing Ron away. And, of course, your personality has changed; you are often behaving aggressive and dissociative. Which is all quite understandable, considering what has happened to you,' she concluded with a sad whisper, almost being certain that he hadn't heard a single word. Which he had, naturally.

He looked up to meet her gaze. 'Nothing has happened to me. I am what I chose to become. Nothing more, nothing less.'

'These are all signs for posttraumatic stress disorder,' she muttered, ignoring his statement, her eyes fixed on a spot on his chest. 'But then, you are also experiencing hallucinations, insomnia, and time-jumps. Harry... have you ever considered going to a doctor because of that? It can have a physical origin, as well.'

He laughed at that, shaking his head in disbelief before returning his attention to his notes. 'The day I'm going to a doctor is the day I'm stopping to kill people.'

She froze. 'You were lying before the feast. You don't want Voldemort's throne, or do you?'

Harry's hand ceased in its movement, and yet he didn't look up to lock eyes with her.

'The best revenge is not to be like your enemy.'

'Marcus Aurelius,' he said silently, recognizing the quote used by Hermione without a further comment.

'All Voldemort craves is power. Feeling powerful means feeling good, and feeling good means to desire for a frequent, periodic recurrence. That's what makes it so dangerous.'

'And by whom is that?'

'Me,' she replied shortly, watching the way the young, black-haired man in front of her was cocking his head to one side, analysing her facial expression as she cracked into a sincere smile.

He smiled, too.

* * *

 **IMPORTANT**

 **A/N:** The two added songs ( _Devil Side_ and _Fear the Fever_ ) belong to my personal favourites, and since they have a lot in common with my story and its characters, I thought I could just share them with my loyal and nice readers. Turns out not everyone who reads this little story of mine is as nice as I believed. Some would rather see me getting reported and Charade cancelled than me continuing to use ' _quotes and other nonsense that nobody reads._ ' I love all of you guys, _really_ , you help and encourage me a lot, but I just _can't_ understand this. I'm willing to share this story with you, something I am actually really uncertain about with me being German and not a native English speaking person and all, and then I get attacked like that. If it at least was _helpful_ criticism! I know not everything about Charade is perfect, _certainly_ I do.

I _will_ continue to use quotes and songs. I am also mentioning the respective author and singer, so I can't see a problem with that. A lot of authors do that. How are copyrights violated like that? I'm not disguising the quotes and songs as my own. But, I will shorten them, I understand that maybe it was a little too much.

But I have to say, I feel honestly offened and slightly disappointed. This person could have just contacted me via PM, but I guess an insulting anonymous threat in the review section is also fine, right? Why not just stopping to read my story when there is something that ' _disturbs_ ' you so much, instead of reporting my whole story and me? It was a lot of work!

So, if I now get reported because I refuse to obey someone insulting, you know why and how that happened.

I'm truly sorry to bother any of you with this, but I'm really really feeling sad because of that ' _review_.'

Perhaps I am overreacting. I don't know. I just felt the need to say this.

To all the other lovely readers, a big **thank you** for reading this chapter. I love you all.


	13. In Another Universe

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to JK Rowling. No infringement intended.

* * *

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'

 _― John Greenleaf Whittier, Maud Muller - Pamphlet_

 **Chapter 13: In Another Universe  
**

Hermione was holding onto the small, black handbag with an engraved _P_ on it, artistically being surrounded by and entwined with strong deer antlers and beautiful lilies. Harry had given it to her after they had gotten ready for their next mission in his chambers, wordlessly and slowly pulling it out of one of his cupboard's drawers and letting its handle fall into her soft hands, the weight of the bag only slightly causing her hands to lower. She did not need him to say it to know that it was something special and significant to him, and she accepted it with a small, sad smile and a welcoming touch on his bare forearm; he did not return it, and yet his bright green eyes told her enough.

Currently, the two of them were standing in front of a large manor with many thick trees in its large front yard and an impressive silvery gate that had the twisted shape of nine majestic letters, revealing the house's owners: _Lestrange_.

Her heart sinking, she turned her head to meet his lingering gaze. 'Don't tell me we are here to visit that lunatic.'

'No, we are not,' Harry said, not smirking at her words –she knew he would have done it if Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't almost succeeded at killing her –, and instead he nodded towards the black handbag she was carrying. 'You will find some apples, bread and water inside of that bag. Do me the favour, rest for a while and eat something. It will take me some time.'

' _What_ will take you some time, Harry?' Hermione demanded to know, her delicate eyebrows furrowed and a frown on her face.

His emerald eyes left her brown ones, and he pulled the phoenix wand out of his dark, left sleeve. He took one more step forward and positioned himself closely in front of the gate before him, staring at it for a short moment before taking a deep breath and starting to mutter some incantations that she thought she might know, and yet never having heard them in reality, probably only having read about them in one of her many old library books.

Having realized that Harry wasn't going to explain his actions any further, Hermione sighed in defeat and moved to get an apple. In her utter astonishment, her left hand didn't just touch the food Harry had mentioned earlier, but also several other things like clothes and books. She looked down at the antlers and lilies and froze; _he hadn't..._

'An Undectable Extension Charm?' she said loudly and suddenly, the words slipping out of her mouth without any control. 'That's advanced magic, Harry...'

His raised, shaking arms ceased for a second and his muttering stopped as well. 'Is that so? Well, I actually got that idea from you. In our sixth year, I caught you practicing this very charm in the Common Room at night. I believe it was winter. You were all alone and deep into your work, not noticing me at all as I admired your mere beauty and astonishing skills; it only took you three tiny attempts before eventually managing it perfectly. You really are an inspiration, do you know that, Hermione?' She felt him grinning proudly, and she couldn't help but softly smile to herself, remembering that night quite well.

'I was just lucky,' she whispered with a shrug, gripping one of the red apples and pulling it out of the bag with a somewhat pleasant feeling inside of her.

As she took a first bite, Harry answered, 'No, you weren't. Luck has nothing to do with your determination, hard work, and dedication. You truly are one of a kind, love.' After that, he went back to work, whispering charms in the shadows of the old trees, oblivious to Hermione's wide eyes and blushed cheeks as she stared at the young man's back in both silent surprise and gracious gratitude.

After half an hour, Harry lowered his arms and let out a deep breath. He turned back to Hermione, who was sitting on the ground, her head resting on her palm as she watched her lover's movements in awe. She stood up the second he winked at her with a victorious expression and took the hand that he offered her politely, helping her stand.

'So, what exactly did you do now? Break the terrorist's doors?'

'I granted us free entry, without the potential danger of drawing attention to ourselves,' he answered calmly, walking ahead and opening the silvery gates with a fast swing of his wand. 'Tag along, darling, we shall not waste any more precious time in this cold, wouldn't you agree?'

* * *

The warm fire that flickered in the fireplace of the salon cast a sparse light on dozens of old paintings of grim-looking wizards with pointed beards and snooty witches with dark eyes and a treacherous smile. The estate of the Lestrange family was reminiscent of that of its related Black family in elegance, perseverance and statement: _we are proud and show just this with our raised heads_.

The grand floor in that gigantic room was endowed with a carpet as an heirloom, so it seemed: it took in its complete size and age, posing as a sign of constancy and tradition.

Hermione had not dared to settle on one of the many armchairs and sofas; instead, she wandered through the drawing-room both uneasily and curiously, her vigilant eyes constantly following her surroundings.

Harry, on the other hand, had been sitting on the dark blue, handsome armchair near the burning flames for a long time already, his green eyes fixed on the girl's slow movements, with every step and every breath. His face did not reveal any potential thoughts that might tumble around inside his head at that moment. Perhaps the fact that he was watching her was a pure coincidence, a simple side effect of his deeply closed and intricate thoughts that grew in his soul and had the momentary upper hand.

When, after a while, their eyes finally locked from across the room, he seemed to, at first, only return to the present piece by piece, but then entirely, the emptiness leaving his eyes and being replaced by a cheeky sparkle.

She sighed, conscious of what memory was taking his head right now, with its complete force and strength. 'We haven't talked about what happened yet,' she whispered softly, but hesitantly, still uncertain as to whether it had been a good decision to jump into the devil's open arms and give herself completely to him. She would be a liar if she said it had been wrong or unpleasant in that situation, but the other possibility – that she in fact did not regret any second of his lips brushing against her neck or his skin rubbing against her own – was equally painful.

Harry smirked and cocked his head, eyeing her with a self-satisfied expression. 'Talking about what happened? To me, that sounds as if it had been a mere coincidence, something completely out of our control and without any consent on either of our sides.'

'Perhaps it was out of our control,' Hermione replied, returning his glance. 'In that moment.'

'In that moment?' Harry repeated silently and calmly. His fingers flexed into a fist, resting beside him. 'Do you believe it won't happen again? Ever?'

Hermione hesitated at that, her lips opening without a single word slipping out of her usually prepared mouth.

Watching her struggle, he looked down at the floor for a very short second before elegantly pushing himself out of the pretty armchair and walking over towards her in a fast pace, only stopping when standing one feet away from her.

'You do not trust me,' he said after a few moments of agony. He pronounced those words with such ease that they signaled complete indifference and invulnerability. And yet there was something in his face, which told her that this was not the case. At least not entirely.

'Do I have a reason to trust you? Should I?' she replied, letting her shoulders fall, defeated. 'I haven't forgotten what you have done. To yourself, to me. To people who were important to me and to you, once upon a time. I haven't forgotten anything about that. Even if I would like to.'

'You are absolutely right, Hermione, dear,' he whispered with caution and harshness. One of his hands moved toward her face and with wary eyes she watched as his index finger traced the length of her jaw. Her skin began to tingle painfully pleasant under his touch, electricity sparking. 'You cannot trust me. You should not trust me. Even though I hardly wish for anything more.'

And almost immediately after that, he leaned forward and bridged the last few inches seperating them from one another. His warm lips found hers and kissed them with such softness that her heart threatened to start beating wings and flutter out of her chest. He interrupted the kiss for a moment and stroked her flushed cheeks, his eyes fixed on her half-open mouth. 'My desire for control seems to leave me in your immediate vicinity, every single time. What hold do you have over me, Hermione?' He muttered against her lips. She felt his hot breath and without complementing or even realizing it, she reached for the collar of Harry's black cloak and pulled him closer to her again, resuming the kiss with an eager lust.

Harry's hands reached over and gripped both sides of her delicate hips, carrying her urgently over to the nearest free wall, pushing her against it and himself closer to her warm body.

Her hands buried themselves hungrily in his black, already messy hair, massaging his scalp. His own inquisited her bodies with wild tenderness, stroking her bare arms, caressing her breasts with a deep growl.

Lips sucked and kissed and licked and bit, and Hermione found herself repeatedly moaning into their hot kisses, begging for more.

She felt him grin into the kiss, before both of his hands went further down and began to work on opening her pants.

Suddenly, a loud noise erupted out of nowhere and the next thing Hermione noticed was that they were no longer alone.

Hermione heard a loud laugh, dark and heavy, in the direction of the entrance to the Lestranges' salon. 'Seriously, mate? In _my_ estate? In _my_ salon? Against _my_ wall?'

The strange voice sighed heavily while Harry's lips and hands left her shaking body, but the warmth of his skin was still as close as before.

'Do not tell me that you slept with this girl in my own bed. That's disgusting, pal, and here I always reckoned you were this _listless_ , psychopathic gentleman.'

Hermione watched with a deep red head and violent breathing as Harry turned to the unknown man and smirked at him. He smoothed his cloak with one hand and touched his lips with the other one; the memory of the last action burned into his mind, a pleasant fire of salvation. 'It's a pleasure to see you again, my friend.'

'Yeah, yeah, stop it with your polite, noble nonsense. After all, there's no excuse for trespassing on my property. All these fucking protecting spells on my manor that my paranoid, crazy wife made up, and you just simply walk into my living quarters and screw your girl here?'

'If it pleases you, it wasn't _that_ simple. It took me some time.'

'Well, obviously not enough, eh?' The older man muttered, shaking his long, dark brown hair. 'So, tell me, what do you want from me? Again? Besides shagging your sidekick on my carpet?'

Harry let out a short, cold laugh. 'I can assure you, Rodolphus, Miss Granger did not allow to misbehave like that in here.'

'Ah, _in here_? Meaning the two of you did already consummate your weird, obsessive, mind-playing relationship?' He cocked his head with a dirty grin, and Hermione, who had quickly adjusted her clothes and appearance, flinched a little. 'It was about time, actually. You know, girl, he used to have this even more sinister-looking countenance. Thanks for granting him some relief, it's a _real_ improvement. Tell me, lass, did he made you do some _crazy stuff_ with–'

'Rodolphus,' Harry said with a sigh, certainly rolling his green eyes. 'Enough. You know precisely why I am here. I heard you are finished with your work for tonight? You've got some time for your friend?'

Rodolphus Lestrange sneered, the same grin still on his thin lips, his twisted face turning into a filthy expression. 'Naturally, my friend.'

* * *

The bar of the Leaky Cauldron was nearly deserted. Tom, the stooped and toothless landlord, was polishing glasses behind the bar counter; a couple of warlocks having a muttered conversation in the far corner glanced first at Rodophus, then at Hermione, and eventually at Harry, their eyes growing big before turning their heads away from the trio, drawing back into the shadows.

Tom nodded into Harry's and Rodolphus's direction, but merely eyeing Hermione with a curious look, possibly remembering her from the time when Ron and his family, and Harry and Hermione had stayed in the Leaky Cauldron for a few days before their third year at Hogwarts. If he did remember her, he hid it well, as he looked down again, trying to ignore the newly arrived guests, only just inclining his head subserviently as they passed him.

Harry drew out his phoenix wand and rapped a brick in the nondescript wall in front of them. At once, the bricks began to whirl and spin how they always did when being rapped by wizards' and witches' wands: a hole appeared there in the middle of them and started to grow wider and wider, until finally forming an archway onto the narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley, the first magical place Hermione had ever visited. She attempted to suppress all the happy memories that she connected this place with –buying her wand, spending hours in Flourish & Blotts, eating ice-cream with Ron and Harry, meeting Crookshanks– and instead raised her head a little higher.

It was quiet, even though it already was time for the shops to open. There were hardly any shoppers abroad, only some lost souls that hid in the shadows or were bold enough to walk past Harry and his two followers.

The crooked, cobbled street was much altered now from the bustling place both Harry and Hermione had visited before their first time at Hogwarts so many years before. More shops than ever were boarded up, though several new establishments dedicated to the Dark Arts had been created since Hermione's last visit. Harry, who had already witnessed the new and different atmosphere in the Diagon Alley, calmly kept walking, ignoring the many posters of known allies of the Order and Muggle-born wizards and witches; and yet, here she was, a Muggle-born witch herself, being being flanked by two Death Eaters, the first of them being one of the two Dark Lord's right hands and the second one being the other right hand's husband and a maybe equally savage follower.

Hermione tried her best to not look at the ragged people who were sitting huddled in doorways, moaning to the few passersby, pleading for gold, insisting that they were really wizards and not scum like herself–one man had a bloody bandage over his eye and another missed a leg and an arm. The two wounded men seemed to fade into the darkness as Harry passed them, avoiding any potential eye-contact. Rodolphus, who did not seem as upset about the poor people as Hermione was, laughed and made a threatening gesture with his wand, looking at the beggars with maniac-like eyes.

'Stop that!' Hermione hissed, glaring furiously at him but Rodolphus only shrugged with an obnoxious grin.

Her brown eyes left the Death Eater's face, and found two that she thought she would never see again.

She stopped suddenly, lingering to take in the sight of two of her former friends: Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

The Gryffindor boy and the Ravenclaw girl were standing in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, their backs turned to Hermione and the others, ordering some ice cream despite the cold temperatures of winter. Hermione guessed with a soft smile that it had been Luna's idea and Neville hadn't been able to resist her innocent-looking, big eyes.

Unconsciously, she was starting to walk towards them, a nostalgic feeling forming inside of her, before two familiar hands pulled her back, keeping her back close to his chest.

'Please, let me talk to them. Just for a minute!' she said, her eyes still fixed on the two Hogwarts students who were probably spending their Christmas holidays together. 'I assumed... I assumed they were dead.' Her eyes started wartering and she quickly brushed the tears away, avoiding Harry's intense gaze.

He was still for a moment after her comment. 'Dead?'

'I thought you had killed them.'

Harry fell silent, then sighing and saying, 'No, I apparently did not.' If he was honest with himself, he had forgotten about their existence in the last few months–he hadn't spent one tiny thought on the remaining people at Hogwarts. 'Forgive me, dear, but we don't have any time for this. Come on, we shall not waste any more time.'

She lingered just for a few more moments, watching her two friends with love and yearning, trying to mesmorize their smiling profiles as well as she could, seconds before they arrived at the foot of the marble steps leading up to the great bronze doors. Hermione frowned: instead of the liveried goblings who usually flanked the entrance, there stood two wizards, both of whom were clutching long thin golden robs.

'Probity Probes,' Harry explained to Hermione when he saw her expression. 'Crude but effective.'

'Just like us, eh, Potter?' Rodolphus said, laughing to himself.

Harry ignored him. 'But they won't be necessary for us.' He set off up the steps, nodding left and right to the wizards who recognized him at the spot.

'Mr. Potter, hello!' one of the two said. His partner made a welcoming gesture towards the bronze doors. 'Please, enter.'

And they did, meeting two goblins that stood before the inner doors, which were made of silver and which carried the poem warning of dire retribution to potential thieves. Hermione looked up at it, feeling like her eleven-year-old-self, staring at the poem warning in awe and respect.

The long counter was as usually manned by goblins sitting on high stools who served some customers already. Harry, Rodolphus, and Hermione headed toward an old goblin who was examining a thick gold coin through an eyeglass. He tossed the coin he was holding aside, murmured something to himself, and finally greeted Rodolphus and Harry politely, only shortly eyeing Hermione with suspicion. 'I wish to enter my vault,' said Rodolphus and he passed over a tiny golden key and his wand for identification, which were then examined and given back to him shortly after.

Without having noticed it, a younger goblin approached the old one serving them and handed him a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal, the Clankers Hermione knew.

'If you will follow me, Mr. Lestrange, Mr. Potter,' said the old goblin, hopping down off his stool and vanishing from sight due to his limited height. 'I shall take you to your vault!' He appeared around the end of the counter, walking toward them with a serious facial expression.

As they hurried toward one of the many doors leading off the hall, the goblin was greeted by another one and Hermione learned that his name was Bogrod. Together, the four of them reached the door and passed into the rough stone passageway beyond, which was lit with flaming torches.

Bogrod wisthled to summon a little cart that came trundling along the tracks towards them out of the darkness; the goblin sat in the front, followed by Rodolphus who was grinning as if he had the time of his life, and Harry politely helped Hermione into the back, cramming himself there as well.

'What a gentleman you've got there, girl!' Rodolphus shouted with a laugh as the cart moved off with a jerk, fastly garthering speed. The cart began twisting and turning through the labyrinthine passages, sloping downward all the time. The cart's rattling was overwhelmingly loud and the wind that forced her bushy hair out of her face was cold. They passed several stalactites and got much deeper into the earth; surely only the old, powerful wizarding houses earned a place as deep into the earth as the Lestranges did.

Suddenly, they halted, and Hermione felt herself being pressed against Harry's side. He touched her hand for a brief moment before following Bogrod and Rodolphus out of the cart.

Hermione heard something clanking and moving around nearby as she pulled herself out of the cart and stepping next to the goblin that was already waiting for all of them. With a nod, he started to lead the way, and they turned a corner and saw something that Hermione had only seen once in her life–a gigantic dragon that was tethered to the ground in front of them, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the place. Hermione tried her best to contain her cool, swallowing.

On a closer look, she realized that the beast's scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground, its eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor, ensuring that the dragon was controlled and tamed during its time protecting the bank's oldest few banks. Hermione's heart ached at the poor creature's appearance, pressing her lips tightly together.

'It is partially blind, the dragon,' Bogrod said, 'but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control it. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come.' He pulled out a number of small metal instruments that when shaken made a long ringing noise like miniature hammers on anvils. Bogrod gave one pair to the person standing closest to him, Rodolphus, who accepted them with a knowing expression.

They advanced around the corner again, constantly shaking the Clankers, and the noise echoed off the rocky walls, a horrifying sound to experience; the dragon let out a hoarse roar, before retreating submissively. It was obviously trembling and Hermione felt herself starting to shake, too, seeing the vicious and violent slashes across its face.

Bogrod handed his pair of Clankers to Harry, who started shaking it like Bogrod had and Rodolphus did, even though his facial expression wasn't as joyful as the latter one's while using it. The goblin now pressed his palm to the Lestrange vault's door; it melted away to reveal a cavelike opening crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armor, the skins of strange creatures–some with long spines, other with drooping wings–, potions in jeweled flasks, and a skull still wearing an ancient crown.

'I will await you outside, Mr. Rodolphus, Mr. Potter. Take your time,' Bogrod said with a bow, and he watched them as the three of them stepped inside the vault before there was a muffled clunk and the door reappeared, sealing Harry, Hermione and Rodolphus inside the vault, now being plunged into total darkness.

' _Lumos!_ ' both men muttered under their breath.

'So, what exactly do you want from my vault's treasures, now, Potter?' Rodolphus said with raised eyebrows. He eyed his fellow Death Eater with cautious eyes and an odd smile.

'An ancient object, I already told you so,' Harry answered, his eyes roaming the vast vault with a great concentration. 'I will know it when I see it.'

'Yeah, yeah, I get,' Rodolphus said, making a random hand movement. 'You should just know that Bella made them add Geminio and Flagrante curses. Everything you touch will burn you and multiply but the copies are worthless–and if you continue to handle the treasure you will eventually be crushed by the weight of the expanding gold. Sounds fun, doesn't it?'

Harry stopped for a second, before smiling to himself. 'Sounds just like Bella.'

Hermione watched his dimly-lit face; there was no affection in his expression as he said the woman's name. A weight was lifted from her heart that she hadn't even been aware of having.

'Yeah, it does sound like my wife,' Rodolphus said. 'Merlin, I haven't been down here for years. Well, Potty-boy, I would say you look around without touching anything and then tell me when you find what you are looking for and I get it for you, right?'

'So, you can touch everything without getting burns and multiplying anything?' Harry whispered to himself, still looking around, his eyes darting around as fast as lightning bolts.

'Of course. This is the Lestrange vault, and I am a Lestrange.'

Harry smirked at him and to himself–probably pleased with himself for bringing Rodolphus along with them, enjoying its advantages. A break-in would have been much more difficult, surely.

The young man took a few steps, careful not to touch anything, and stopped in front of a bronze figure of a bald, tall man; its arms were directed towards the sky–or rather towards the vault's ceiling–and it had big wings on its back, obviously too heavy for him to carry, and yet the figure was standing tall and proud. Something about this artefact was magically drawing him to it, its aura a seducing danger that he was surprisingly willing to enter. He lowered his wand to see the figure better, and suddenly stared into dark blue-ish eyes that pulled him into utter but warm darkness.

* * *

 _'We are going to call him Harry, Harry James Potter,' the exhausted, but still beautiful figure of Lily Potter whispered to her favourite people surrounding here: her silently crying husband James who was hugging his wife's free arm while staring at their newborn son in her other one, then Sirius who was not only James's best friend but in another way also hers and who couldn't take his grey eyes off of the young child that already had a big spot in his heart, Remus who she had spent so much time with during their school years and whose scars looked less nasty at that moment of love and friendship and life, Peter who was nervously hopping behind the tall figure of Sirius to try and get a proper glance at the little one he was going to call Littlest Stag, Mary Macdonald who was her best friend and grinning as she took pictures over pictures, her and James's parents who were silent but proud and happy as they took in the beauty of their children together with their new grandson, and Petunia who had grow to be quite close to her little sister again and who was carrying her own son Dudley as she smiled and congratulated the new parents.  
_

Flash–

 _Aunt Mary, his mother's best friend, was holding three-year-old Harry, cuddling and stroking the crying boy after he had fallen from his first broomstick. 'I know what will make you cheer up!' Little Harry ceased, glancing at the pretty woman's warm blue eyes, waiting for something to happen. She was smiling happily, knowing something that the boy did not. 'You're going to be a big brother, Harry!' At that, his father came and took the boy out of Mary's arms and carried him over to Lily who was following the green eyes that looked just like hers. James settled Harry into Lily's lap, careful not to hurt her swollen stomach. 'But, mummy, why did you eat my sister?' And Lily laughed, as did James who stroke the boy's black hair with affectionate hazel eyes. 'It's not a sister, sweetheart. You're going to have a little brother. And I didn't eat him_ – _I ate a special kind of peanut, and then your father kissed me, and the peanut is now in my stomach and grows into a boy. Are you happy about a brother?' And Harry, who had listened to her with big eyes and an open mouth, now nodded quickly and his small hand touched his mother's stomach. 'Let's name him Graham, mummy, daddy!'_

Flash–

 _'Hey, Uncle Remus, do you want to hear a joke?' 6-year-old Harry asked the brown-haired man with a wide smile that reminded him of the boy's father. 'Sure, Harry, shoot!' he answered watching the kid's tiny face brighten up and his mouth opening, 'What happened to the dog that swallowed a firefly?' Remus felt a familiar scent creeping up on him, as he answered, 'I don't know, what happened to the dog?'_ – _'It barked with de-light!' Harry laughed before even Remus did and the latter knew exactly where the boy got the joke from. 'So, I guess your godfather passed on his humour onto you?' Harry's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'A godfather? I don't have a godfather. I only have a...' And suddenly, Sirius jumped next to the little boy, the both of them grinning and shouting in unison, '...dogfather!' Amd at that, Sirius turned into the big, black dog and licked Harry's face._

Flash–

 _The nine-year-old boy with the messy, black hair and the sparkling green eyes sat on the floor of his bedroom, both sad and mad that he wasn't allowed to eat any more sweets for today. He was about to open the door and try to pursuade his mother in changing her mind, when it was instead opened by someone else: his Uncle Peter. He had a guilty but kind smile on his round face, holding out Harry's favourite lollipop and putting a finger to his mouth, asking him to keep quiet. 'Or I will get worse punishment than no more candy!' Uncle Peter said, his cheeks red. Harry took the lollipop with a tiny chuckle._

Flash–

 _Eleven-year-old Harry came running into the Potters' living room in Godric's Hollow, a special letter in his hands and an equally special smile on his lips. He ran over to his father who was trying to teach Harry's eight-year-old brother Graham how to ride a broomstick; but the auburn-haired boy with the hazel eyes had never been as good as Harry at it, and now the other two male Potters were looking up at Harry. 'Dad! It came! It finally came!' he shouted loudly and presenting the letter proudly, his green eyes glowing at the thought of being a student at Hogwarts: he had had dreams of Gryffindor and the Quidditch pitch and the vast castle, and now it had finally become reality. 'That's fantastic! Oh, Harry! You definitely need a new broomstick now, of course my son is going to break the rules and become part of the Quidditch team in his first year, there is no other way_ – _' A female voice erupted from upstairs. 'James, stop shouting, you know that Phoebe is sick and she just finally fell asleep!' But it was too late; the three-year-old girl was wide-awake again, and seconds later both mother and daughter came down the stairs, the girl's brown hair as thick as her mother's but the nose and smile of her father who now took her from Lily, and into his own arms, kissing her reddend cheeks. 'Mummy, Harry got his letter!' Graham said with big eyes, jumping around to celebrate his big brother's news. At that, Lily quickly went over to her eldest child, pressing him against her chest and kissing every inch she could reach. 'Oh, my boy... How wonderful! We have to celebrate it_ – _I'm going to invite everyone, Remus and Sirius and Peter and Mary and Hagrid and_ – _' Harry tried to break free, telling his excited mother to stop. 'And Ron too, right, Mum? He got his letter yesterday!' Lily smiled, stroking the eldest Potter child's black hair. 'Of course, Harry, of course! The whole Weasley family and Minerva of course, she just adores you, even if she wouldn't admit it! She can tell you so much more about Hogwarts_ – _and about your father and his friends! They used to be quite some troublemakers, isn't that right, James?' She turned to her husband who was rocking Phoebe and now grinned widely. 'Sirius already told Harry everything. Oh, my, that reminds me of something_ – _it's time to pass on the Marauder's Map!' His face turned pale, running up the stairs with Phoebe in his arms, the two boys and their mother looking after them, laughing._

Flash–

 _Harry stared at the girl with the bushy-brown hair and large front teeth who was carrying some books in her arms and standing alone on the platform, only a few metres away from the Potters and the Weasleys and their friends who had come to see Harry, Ron and Ron's older brothers off. She looked shy and insecure, but also somehow interesting. Harry turned to face his best friend Ron, whose parents were in the same organisation that fought for peace as his, and pushed him into the side, nodding into the girl's direction. 'Let's say hi, she looks lonely!' Ron was reluctant to talk to someone strange_ – _and a girl who looked like a nerd at that_ – _but he followed his friend as he strode over to the girl. 'Hey, my name is Harry!' he introduced himself upon locking eyes with her. She smiled friendly. 'And this is Ron, but you can also call him Ronald, just like his mum does when he fails to clean his room,' Harry said with his father's mischevious grin, pointing at his ginger-haired friend who rolled his blue eyes at the comment. 'No, call me Ron. What's your name?'_ – _'It's Hermione. Hermione Granger,' she answered, her chin high. 'Nice to meet you, Hermione. Where are your parents?' Harry asked, looking around. Hermione shrugged, her eyes darting to the large, scarlet Hogwarts Express for a fleeting moment. 'They wanted to look around, maybe get to talk to the driver. They are quite nervous and want to make sure I will be absolutely fine, you know?' Harry smiled. 'Ah, so you are a Muggle-born witch?' Hermione nodded, her cheeks reddend, insecure about how to act. 'There's nothing to worry about. My mother is also a Muggle-born witch, and she is awesome, and great at Potions and Charms, I bet you'll be just as brilliant as she was!' Hermione's cheeks turned into an even darker red. Realising what he just said, Harry blushed too, but still stood by his words. 'Harry,' Hermione said, silently. 'Can I join you and Ronald in the train?' Harry laughed at the fact that she used his friend's full name with a grin into Ron's direction, before nodding. 'Sure! I was just about to ask you! Now, come on, I want to introduce you to my family, and my dogfather_ – _I mean godfather_ – _and my Uncle Remus, and all the others! And then we can go find your parents and I can tell them that I will take great care of you!' And he took her hand, pulling her with him as he ran over to his family, the girl blushing even harder at his last words, but quietly smiling to herself.  
_

Flash–

 _'Oi, Potter, how's it going with your little girlfriend Granger?' Malfoy's voice echoed across the Great Hall, the Slytherin table laughing at his words as they waited for Harry's reaction. Sixteen-year-old Harry looked and smiled at them before turning to Hermione who was sitting right next to him and taking her face into his hands, kissing her on her soft lips, causing her to sqeual in surprise before returning the kiss, her cheeks flushing a deep, red colour. Harry pulled slowly away from her, his thump stroking her jaw, and smirking at her with his Marauder-smirk. 'It's going great, thanks for asking, Malfoy!' he shouted back, leaving not only the Slytherin table but the whole Great Hall silent, until the Gryffindors started applauding, roaring in joy. The Weasley boys and Graham clapped Harry's back and he was certain their little sister Ginny was staring at him with sad eyes, and for a second he felt bad for her, but then he saw Hermione's brown eyes again and all he could think about was how lucky he was to find someone so perfect. 'That's what I call good luck for tomorrow's match, Captain Potter!' Ron yelled through the noise, and Phoebe winked at him, 'Dad and Mum are going to be so happy about their little versions finally taking a step closer to tying the knot!'  
_

Flash–

 _Twenty-year-old Harry was lying next to the sleeping figure of his newly married wife, studying all of her tiny features und habits_ – _the way her nose would wrinkle when she was asleep, her lips moving without any words coming out, her bushy but beautiful brown hair falling into her face. His hand moved to put some strands behind her ear, remembering last night with a smile_ – _the first night they had spent together as a married couple. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, brown meeting green, and she returned his smile with a sleepy gaze. 'Good morning, my handsome husband,' she muttered, her voice still a little hoarse from screaming out his name over and over again last night. 'Good morning, my beautiful wife,' he retorted with a grin, leaning into her to kiss her. 'I still can't believe you persuaded me into marrying at twenty years old,' she whispered against his lips, shaking her head with laughter. 'Well, everyone kept on telling us how we were just like my parents, isn't that right?'_ – ' _Hmm... that's quite right, Mr. Granger.'_ – _'Mr. Granger? I'm sorry, but I will have to keep my name, or the Potter name will die out.'_ – ' _What about Graham?'_ – ' _Hermione, it's very optimistic that you think anyone would want to marry my little brother, but I think you forgot that he still asks my mum to cut his steak because it allegedly tastes better that way.'_ – ' _And? Does it taste better that way?'_ – _'It does, actually,' Harry said after thinking for a while, joining into his wife's laughter and going back to kissing her._

Flash–

 _'Good evening, Professor Potter,' the brown-haired, female teacher for Charms said with a smug smile. 'Oh, good evening, Professor Granger,' the black-haired man replied, returning her smile with a wink. 'How is your wonderful husband?' he added, following her through one of Hogwarts' corridors after dinner. 'Oh, you know, quite busy with preparing his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, but I heard he looks just wonderful in his teacher-attire. How is your amazing wife?'_ – ' _Oh, is that so? Well, I heard that my wife recently got a boy detention who was her own son. Shocking, right? But I suppose that Dean Potter just deserved it. He's just like his father, isn't he? Typical Gryffindor.'_ _– 'And his grandfather James, and his father's godfather Sirius, and his father's mentor Remus, and...'_ _– 'Oh, I get it. All his father's fault! But what about Dean's little twin sisters Jane and Macie Potter? They're both proud Ravenclaws and sharp as a knife! I suppose that is also thanks to their father?'_ – ' _Oh, either that, or due to their brilliant mother who just didn't end up in Ravenclaw herself because she wanted to be in the same House as that cute boy that had talked to her on the platform.' Harry leaned closer at that, 'Oh, you thought I was cute?'_ – _'Terribly cute,' she corrected, kissing her husband._

Flash–

 _His sister Phoebe was sitting next to Neville Longbottom, her husband for five years, craddling their newborn daughter Grace; his brother Graham was playing with his oldest son Duncan wizarding chess as Ron gave some tips while letting his twelve-year-old daughter Rose put make-up on his face, ignoring Luna's, his wife, comments how pink just wasn't his colour. Graham's wife Ginny was teaching both her eight-year-old daughter Mairead and Ron and Luna's seven-year-old son Christopher how to bake the most delicious chocolate cookies ever created. His own children, Dean and the twins Jane and Macie, were laughing at the Potters' pool, listening to old stores told by their grandfather James and his best friends Sirius and Remus. Their grandmother Lily was standing next to Hermione and Harry, smiling and feeling the most peaceful and happiest she ever had since her wedding and children's births. 'I am so glad that you two found your way to each other,' she said, her green eyes meeting her eldest son's that were identical to hers before pulling her daughter-in-law into a hug. 'I am so glad that we are all here together.'_

Flash–

 _It was time for him to go. Hermione, his beautiful, brilliant Hermione had passed away one month ago. He hadn't been the same since_ – _there was no longer someone waking up next to him, no longer someone cooking his favourite food for him, no longer someone taking his typical morning walks with him. His heart was broken, as he looked down at the wizarding pictures of his wife, his children, his parents, his godfather and mentor, his grandchildren, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, his friends and colleagues_ – _he longed for his wife's warm touch on his shoulder when she knew he was sad, her kiss when she knew he needed one, her laugh when she knew he was happy. He had spent eighty years by her side, from eleven-year-old students at Hogwarts to teenagers in love for the first time to newly married couple to parents of a beautiful baby boy and two sweet girls to an older couple watching their last child leave their home to growing old side by side. She was gone, now, and he knew that meant it was his time, too_ – _his time to go. His children would cry, his grandchildren would cry, his siblings would cry, but their pain would cease, and now it was time for his own pain to cease as well. He lay down at night, falling asleep with a soft smile and a tear running down his face, knowing fate was going to finish its work and keep him sleeping; not only until the morning, but until the end of time._

* * *

A voice echoed through mist and dust and fog, and it grew louder and louder until he knew it was his wife's, the mother of his children's voice. The voice that was his favourite sound.

His mind returned to where it truly belonged; stepping back from the winged-figure, its dark blue eyes going back to stony grey again, he turned to face the source of the voice.

' _Harry_? What is it, Harry? Are you alright? What have you seen?' she asked, looking both worried and upset with him, and that was the moment he realized she wasn't his wife nor the mother of his children. He didn't have parents, or a godfather, or a mentor, or siblings. She was the only one he had left, the only one he ever had. She was his lover, perhaps. A lover that did not trust nor like him, a lover that would only stay by his side until she noticed how poisonous and unhealthly he indeed was for her– _better for her, leaving him..._

He muttered, tired and defeated and overwhelmed with both foreign and nostalgic sensations, 'Another universe, another chance, another life. But certainly not _mine_.'


End file.
